The Blood Between Us
by Jade TeaLeaf
Summary: Southsward has changed since the days of The Bellmaker. Beasts pay with coins instead of kindness and vermin are trying to carve their way into society. Together, and for different reasons, three beasts will change everything for the kingdom: the stolen warrior, the wayward traveler, and the fledgling lord. What will they bring in their wake? Revolution or destruction?
1. Prologue I

**A/N: Guess who's back from hiatus?**

**And, due to some doodling during a boring class, I have come up with (yet another) new story... This time a sequel. **

**_Please note, reading the prequel will not be necessary._ Since a lot of you haven't read that tome or have forgotten the details, I will make sure to re-hash the plot and characters within this story.  
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**For those who have followe****d "The Chains That Bind Us," I have decided that due to rookie mistakes, I have messed up with the pacing and have too many characters/plots to keep up. So, I have decided that the best way to move on would be to carry Chains on into the sequel.**_  
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**I am aware that Chains is only half-finished, so the end will be revealed in this sequel. I know that this is lazy and disappointing, but I hope you can understand; to make it up to you, I'll do my best to make this story compensate for the lack of finish for Chains. :)  
**

* * *

_If you are near to the dark  
I will tell you 'bout the sun._

_-lyrics from .hack Sign "Aura"_

* * *

**Prologue I**_  
_

* * *

The tribe of the Juskajow had known times of greatness in the past but at its current state, anybeast would find that hard to believe. Night fell upon the sparse grasslands, forcing the desolate tribe to retreat to their flimsy shelters. The smattering of fires began to dwindle against the sandy winds and the meager left-overs were brought in. Though the tribe seemed eager for the little rest they could afford, the chieftain had more important matters to attend to.

"What more do you see about him?" the fox demanded as he scratched a tattooed cheek. But his question did nothing to hasten the seer's rituals. Sedjow had dealt with fire countless times before but the stench of this foul smoke was enough to send him into a bout of coughs. But for his precious information, this moment of irritation was a small price to pay. He waved the blasphemous clouds away, eager for the vixen's interpretations.

"It's a male," Garla rasped, shaking a box of bones over her head as her throaty voice sang some indiscernible mantra. A chill spilled over his spine but he disregarded it. As ridiculous as some of the rituals were, they seemed to carry a strange power that none could properly explain. The chieftain didn't quite trust in the accuracy of seers, but any news of a Taggerung was something worth hearing.

"Of _course_ it's a male. And?" he urged. "What else?" She ceased the bone rattling and held her paws in the air, her tattooed face a mask of utter awe. Her eyes stretched so wide that Sedjow couldn't help but be reminded of golden coins.

"The babe will be born here to the Juskajow," she announced with pride, breaking the stillness to continue the sound of horrible, rattling bones.

"Are ye sure?" Elation rose from deep within his chest.

"As sure as the sky is high, O' chieftain," she affirmed. He smiled to himself as she continued her ritual. Most of the time Vulpuz had bestowed the most violent or successful tribe with the Taggerung. While Juskajow was faring quite well for a Juska tribe, it was only just regrowing and had participated in relatively few raids. He had no idea why the great Chosen One would be born into such a humble group but he had no complaints.

"And what more?"

"Shhhh..." She pressed a claw to her cracked lips. She closed her eyes, revealing the elaborate tattoos on her eyelids. Sedjow did not concern himself with whatever madness the Juska seers were fond of. They could do whatever they liked so long as they could give him the sage words that he needed. Still squatting over the fire, she reached into a pouch beside her, swiping a pawful of white glittering powder. She paused, eyes still closed, feeling the tiny grains slip between her claws. And without a word she tossed it into the firepit.

The flame blazed furiously, blaring a bright red hue as it shot thrice its size. For just a moment the chieftain felt fear rising in his throat as the fire towered over him. But in a flash and an explosion of thick, curling smoke, the flame had whimpered into ashes. The seer sensed his moment of arrest and cackled with delight.

"It was no trick," she said, answering a question that had just seeped into his mind. "It was Vulpuz himself telling me of his newest warrior."

"I don' care if 'tis Vulpuz or the ghost of a drunken rat," the chieftain replied tersely. "Tell me about the Taggerung."

"You should not say such things of the spirit," Garla warned. There was a tense silence and the seer cleared her throat as his paw slid down to a dagger. "But the child is here. Just a little life in a mother's womb."

"So he will be born soon?"

"Within five moons," she answered.

"But how do we tell which babe?" A perplexed frown collected over his brow. "By the fang, nearly ev'ry female has a whelp in the gut this season!"

"He will be a babe kissed by the sun." From her tone he could tell that she had relished withholding this fact from him. It would have infuriated him but he found some relief to the statement. "Fur as red as the flames you witnessed."

"Fox," he breathed. There was some pride in his tone. Of all creatures, foxes were known to be the most cunning and ambitious. Usually the title belonged to a ferret or stoat, once even an otter, but the fates had favored his kind this generation.

"Must be, must be," she nodded.

"But how d'we know _which_ cub?"

She nodded knowingly as she rasped a reply. "A Juskabeast kills many by his older years. A Taggerung kills countless. And _this_ Taggerung will start his reign from the moment he draws his first breath." In a rage the chieftain gripped her by the scruff of her neck, hoisting her up in the air until her legs dangled uselessly beneath her. But even then Sedjow looked down on her from his towering height, the horizontal stripes along his snout beginning to crinkle as he snarled.

"Enough prattlin', vixen. _ Spit_ it out." He dropped her unceremoniously but if she felt any fear for her life, her countenance showed very little concern. Instead she gave him a blackened, toothy grin.

"A birthing bed and death bed are the same, methinks."

"So the wench dies of childbirth?" the fox nodded. He suddenly found himself thinking about his own mate and worry pricked at his mind.

"Yes, yes," Garla nodded, her gaudy earrings tinkling along with her movements. "I advise that we not tell them this, O chieftain."

"Of course," he growled, peeking at the quiet tribe through a slit in the tent flap. "The last thing we need is a frantic vixen drinking potions to poison the unborn babe. Anythin' else your eyes see?"

"I see nothing more but smoke," she answered.

"Well tell me when y' git anything." He strode out into the light and fresh, clean air.

Within the next few days he was sure to inform the pregnant vixens of their Taggerung, neglecting to mention their own fate. And for the next few moons the expectant mothers received the choicest vittles, the best shelter, the warmest fires, and the most protection should a rival tribe covet the glory of a Taggerung.

The Juskajow understood that the promise of a legend was a dangerous one. Every Juska tribe wished to be the strongest, and possessing a Taggerung would ensure that. Fast as the wind, strong as the tide, unpredictable as fire, cruel as thunder. Such a beast was undefeatable. But even then there were the constant challenges to the title. In the past there had been many instances of chieftains slaughtering an infant Taggerung to reap the title for himself. Fools, the lot of them.

Only a coward would slaughter a babe; the meek were not worthy to be called Taggerung. Drunk with arrogance, those creatures pitted wars with formidable adversaries and paid the price. But the tribes had learned from history and the greatest threat now was of a kidnapping. The chieftain furrowed his brow upon the realization. As proud as he was of this prospective champion, the heckling of rival tribes would doubtless spell trouble for the modest Juskajow.

* * *

Several moons soon passed, leaving a long line of healthy childbirths and no Taggerung. Though whelping was females' work, the chieftain made a point to witness every fox birth. He remembered his anxiety when his mate went into labor but the fear became relief when the fates yielded a healthy birth. Instead of a Taggerung, his mate presented him a glimpse of his newborn daughter and that was good enough. The other vixens, however, only received disappointed frowns and rejection from the chieftain and seer when they held up their squalling newborns.

"How much longer?" Sedjow demanded, holding his paws up to the warming fire. "There are only three vixens left and none of them look close to ready."

"Hm..." The seer closed her eyes. "The Fates have a strange way of working, indeed."

"Well does he exist or not?" Sedjow snorted. "D'we need t' kidnap 'im from another tribe?" For some reason she found the notion humorous.

"Do you doubt my omens, O' leader?" she cackled, waving a spindly paw at the thousands of stars overhead. "He will be born here, like as not."

"This nons-" The chieftain froze in mid-sentence. Seers had their omens but he had his gut instincts. And right now, something was amiss. Shouting rang in from the Southern edge of camp and the fox instantly straightened his stance, whipping his sword from the protection of its sheath.

"Attack! Attack!" he bellowed. "Shift yourselves you worthless slugs!" But not one beast was nearly fast enough to leap to attention. Like a gushing wave to the shore, the enemy rushed upon them. The fox chieftain met them with equal ferocity, if not more.

The darkness masked the identity of the first beast but that didn't matter. All that the fox needed was a silhouette. He dodged the first blow, ramming his elbow into the opponent's snout before stabbing the beast through the gut. A movement at the corner of his eye alerted him of the next assailant. Sedjow neatly sidestepped the next attack, wrenching his sword free from the first victim as he dealt a nasty kick to the stomach. The beast doubled over, giving the fox enough time to knee it in the snout.

Somebeast behind him yowled a battle cry and the fox flinched as he recognized the sensation of cold steel rending through his flesh and fur. He clapped a paw against his right arm, feeling blood ooze onto his palm. But it was only a slight wound and if he didn't focus he could very well lose his head.

The firelight flickered and the chieftain glimpsed the features of a rat as it raised both paws over its head_- _a typical motion for a clumsy downward swing. He leaped expertly out of the way, swinging his sword at the hapless rat with such force that he feared that the muscles in his arm might tear. He expected the creature to fall with a dramatic thud or at least scream, but the lifeless body only slumped quietly to the knees before slipping to the ground.

"Enough!" a voice boomed. In an instant the enemies backed away from the Juskajow, forming a wall of warriors and an empty space that separated the two tribes. At first glance, it appeared that they were even in number but then again, it was likely that they kept hidden reinforcements. Slowly, the rest of Juskajow started to trickle out from their tents to watch the unfolding spectacle.

_A typical move,_ Sedjow decided. _They swoop in an' kill a few of us to rattle us in our boots._

The fox narrowed his eyes, training his vision on a hulking, darkened silhouette striding towards them. The stoat was large to be sure, but he also had a slight limp on his right leg. If worst came to worst, Sedjow would at least have one weakness to exploit.

"I want t'speak with yore leader," the stoat demanded.

"Yo're lookin' right at 'im." The fox stepped forward. "Sedjow of Juskajow." He sheathed his blade as a gesture of peace, though he was careful never to let his sword paw stray from the hilt.

"So you fleabags got the Taggerung, eh?" It was hard to tell from the sputtering firelight, but the opposing chieftain sported a set of familiar green zigzag tattoos that ran down both cheeks.

"Juskara," Sedjow growled, trying to keep his tail from ducking between his legs. "Don't you dunderheads remember the meanin' of the word 'truce?'"

"It's the _Juskatrelk_ now," he boomed. "All your deals died with the old tribe leader when I sawed off 'er head." A smattering of cheers sounded at the last sentence while Sedjow grit his teeth. That last bit of news was a shame; the fox rather liked Katchra. Though a female, she at least appreciated some allegiance with her own kind. Had circumstances been different they might have even joined tribes but that was behind them now.

"So you must be Trelk," the fox replied with nonchalant air. He had heard the name tossed around in previous encounters with the late Juskara. From what he understood, he was not a beast to be taken lightly.

"And I don' care t'learn 'bout your name," the Juskatrelk chieftain snorted, completely forgetting the fact that Sedjow had already introduced himself. "I'm only int'rested in the Taggerung. Now rumors say you've got 'im."

"Then you're a fool," he spat. "You think our tribe would have th' Taggerung when there are the Juskahud and Juskaann prowling around out there? If any clan has 'im, it's gotta be one o' them."

"Liar!" The ferocity of the accusation didn't surprise him. "Our seer says he's here."

"Then your seer is daft."

"Give us yore vixens," the stoat demanded, casting a look at Garla. "And no greying old hags either. We want the ones still with whelps in their stomachs."

"And if we refuse?" The fox cursed himself the second the question left his lips. It was completely redundant to ask such a question.

"Then we fight t'the death," Trelk replied with a smirk. "But give us what we want an' we leave all peaceful like- nobeast harmed." Several of the Juskajow vixens began whispering amongst themselves but Sedjow silenced them with a single glare. The chieftain was doubtful that his enemies would lay down their lives for this new and inexperienced leader. But that didn't mean that they were willing to scamper back to their camp either. More blood would be shed, lives would be lost, and he didn't have the resources to replace dozens of destroyed shelters.

"And what happens to the vixens without the brat you want?" From Trelk's blank expression, it seemed like a question that the stoat hadn't even considered. Perhaps he anticipated more of a fight than an actual deal. But to fight was to risk the death of the Chosen One's mother. For both tribes, a negotiation was clearly the best option. It was a wonder how Katchra fell to a beast bright as mud.

"You can have 'em back," the stoat declared. "All safe'n'sound. But we keep the babe and a truce between Juskatrelk and Juskajow come after."

Sedjow tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he feigned contemplation. The last thing that he needed was for his fellow clanbeasts to know he was so quick to cede defeat. Though it was likely to save their miserable hides, he didn't count on many vermin appreciating that fact.

"Deal." A cluster of vixens wailed at that. Some of them were the ones with cub and a few others were their kin. Sedjow had no choice but to stand aside and watch as the Juskatrelk began dragging the unfortunate beasts away from their clanmates. The vixens clawed at them, kicking and screaming with all their might.

"Careful with 'em!" Trelk barked. At the very least he was smart enough to understand the frailty of pregnancy. The Juskajow stood by reluctantly as their tents were thoroughly inspected. It was clearly a blow to their pride and even Sedjow nearly strangled the beast that entered his mate's tent. In the end, all three vixens were rounded up and bound for their trek to the neighboring clan's camp.

"Glad we could work et out," the stoat leader grinned, a paw resting the pommel of his sword. "Mabbe when th' Taggerung's all grown we can merge th' tribes."

"Maybe," Sedjow replied, careful not to cause a stir after all he'd been through. Trelk nodded, swirling his ragged cloak as he turned back to where he came. The Juskajow chieftain could still hear the vixens weeping in the distance and worry pricked at his mind. But then again, this was all he could do for them. At least now, two of them would be able to return.

"Do you think it wise?" Garla rasped, interrupting his thoughts. "Merging with Juskatrelk would be an interesting move." A part of him yearned to strike her and the other part wanted to question her about the Taggerung. _The Taggerung born here in this tribe! Pah!_ He should have known better than to raise his hopes, but then again...

"I want no part of this Taggerung," he muttered, padding off to assess the damage of the camp. "The Chosen One only brings war and this clan needs none o' that."

* * *

Nine dead and sixteen wounded. That was the price of their "Chosen One." But Sedjow had to admit, this was not the worst that could have happened. He gulped at the thought of possible outcomes if any of the larger Juska tribes came to them seeking the brat. But the burden was gone and now it was Trelk's problem to deal with. He tossed another scrap of wood into the dying fire, trying to imagine the stoat's face smoldering to crisp.

"Sedjow! Chief! Come look'it this!" The distant call instantly brought the fox to attention. In less than a second he wrenched a spear from the ground and started racing towards the commotion just for a chance to skewer an enemy. He sprinted faster, his ears tuning in on the sound of a female's shrieking. But something was strange. He slowed his pace and stopped outside a tent and winced at the awful din coming from inside.

"What's goin' on?"

"Garla's inside," one of his Juska informed. "She tol' us t'git you as fast as we could."

"It's the Taggerung!" a ratwife piped up.

His eyes widened as shock replaced the puzzled look on his features. Without another word he entered eagerly, shrugging the tent flaps over his shoulders. The pungent stench of sweat and blood struck him hard. His eyes began to adjust to the dim candlelight and to his surprise, he was greeted by the sight of a ferretwife. She lay on a plain reed mat, a mix of afterbirth and stagnant blood pooling around her legs and bedding. The female panted and shuddered weakly as her eyes rolled upwards to their whites. He had seen enough of death to know that she was good as gone.

"Where is the babe?" He turned away from the sight and faced the seer as she cradled the precious bundle. But something was amiss. When his daughter was born she set up such a wail that it left him eager to leave the tent. But this infant... it was a quiet thing, mewling almost as weakly as his mother. It was alive, to be sure. But for how long?

_Kissed by the sun._ And now the chieftain could see why. The ferretbabe's fur was a blazing reddish-orange comparable to even the handsomest of fox fur. But even swaddled up in layers of thick cloak, it was a tiny little bundle. Too small.

"It's just a runt," he frowned. "All this trouble fer a runt."

"Born a moon too early," Garla sighed, nodding at the freshly-dead ferretwife. "Look. He is so strong that even the womb could not hold him."

"_Strong?_" Sedjow spat. "Look at 'im! He won't even last the night!"

"He will," the seer promised, setting the sleeping babe on the ground. "We just need to take proper care of him at this fragile state. All creatures are born weak, are they not?"

"I don't remember hearing of a stillborn Taggerung," he growled.

"It is not safe to put the tattoos on him yet," Garla said, ignoring his last statement and shaking her head in quiet agreement to herself. "No, no, no. Oh no. Not safe at all."

"But you said that he would live," the chieftain retorted. "Well? Which is it?"

"An omen," she rasped.

"I've had enough of your lies, vixen."

"He was born here, was he not?" Garla snapped. "His mother just died of childbirth, as I predicted. And look at his fur. He is no fox, but is he not a beast kissed by the sun?" Sedjow simply snorted, looking away in disgust.

"We should git 'er buried," he muttered, nodding at the mother's corpse. "She's stinkin' up the place."

"My visions brought me to him. He had none of the traditional tattoos but I recognized him in a heartbeat," the vixen prattled, ignoring the last statement. "He will be a big beast of about twenty seasons, his fur not even losing a single spark of sun. He will walk in the darkness, all alone. And he whispered to me. Soft words, powerful words that made me weep."

"What does that _rubbish_ even mean?" Sedjow threw a clay pot against the ground, shattering it in an instant. The newborn immediately set up a thin wail as Garla clutched him to her chest protectively.

"I know not, but he will come to us," she replied, trying in vain to comfort the whelp. "He will come for us when we are near to the dark and he will tell us 'bout the sun."


	2. Prologue II

**Thank you to all who reviewed: ferretWARLORD, Quaver Tava, and Rhosan (guest). I received a question regarding the "kissed by the sun" prophecy. The Taggerung fit the prophecy because of his red-colored fur. I really appreciate your kind words, questions, and constructive criticism. Everyone, it would do my heart a lot of good if you could review, but if not, well the Story Traffic makes me happy anyways. Thanks for reading. :)  
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**Now, without further ado...  
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**Prologue II**

_He will not be found, yet all men will find him._ - quote from _Dune Messiah_

* * *

The Juska chieftain stood in the field, eyes coasting over the bodies of the fallen- _his_ fallen. Sedjow breathed out, cold anger overcoming his short-lived grief as he gripped his sword.

"What's the meaning of this ambush, Trelk?"

The stoat and his clan stepped out of the shadows, his snout split into a menacing snarl.

"All of the cubs were born," he growled. "All the vixens _survived._"

"Then where're they?" Sedjow took a cautious step to his right, ears flattening against his skull as he fought back the urge to lunge. Trelk followed his example, mirroring his steps as they circled each other.

"Hacked 'em all t'bits," he spat. "Ev'ry last one 'o 'em."

"Liar!" The fox's swordpaw trembled and he squeezed the hilt so tight that he thought it would shatter in his grasp. "Liar! You said you'd let'em go!"

"That was before I found out you was holdin' out on me," Trelk growled again, voice dripping with venom. "Trickin' me int' taking your wenches while keeping the Taggerung to y'self. Try to make me a fool, didja?"

"You took 'em yoreself, idjit."

"Give me the _Taggerung!_" Trelk leaped forward, howling like a madbeast while his warriors followed suit. Screams struck the air as the Juskajow tried to scurry to safety. Sedjow rushed forward to meet his challenger, smashing his sword against the stoat's blade. The stoat was younger, more muscular, and the impact brought tremors through the fox's arm. Sedjow barely dodged the next blow by a hair before Trelk sent him sprawling with a kick.

The fox stumbled, landing on one footpaw and one knee before leaping to his side. Too slow. Sedjow grunted at the impact of blade and flesh. He leaped backwards, a paw pressed against his side. The metallic stench of blood invaded his nostrils as a burst of orange blinded him for a second. Sedjow ignored the pain, focusing all his attention on his opponent. Another flash of orange. Sedjow glanced to his left and witnessed his settlement being razed to the ground, flames engulfing tents and fur and flesh.

The horror and distraction was all the opportunity Trelk needed. In three strides, the stoat was upon the fox. Sedjow felt a fist smash against the side of his face before mud enveloped his snout. The chieftain sputtered, getting to his quaking knees as Trelk's paw gripped his shirt and hauled him up. The fox hung in the air, dazed and defeated as his vision faded back and forth between darkness and horror.

"Where is the Taggerung?" The stoat's putrid breath flooded over his face. Sedjow blinked and found his sight blurry. He couldn't understand it. His mind was whirling with panic and his entire tribe was being slaughtered before his very eyes. Screams rang in his ears and from the corner of his eyes, he saw his wife fleeing to the forest, his cub clutched in her arms as vermin gave chase.

"Where is the Taggerung?" That same question repeated. _Taggerung, Taggerung._ All this hope, all this promise. All this talk of a bright and victory-filled future. So much struggling, so many deals just to stay alive and now they were being snuffed out like a flame. For what? All for this tiny and insignificant whelp. This brat was nothing but a curse. He licked his cracked lips only to taste his bitter blood.

"You're burning 'im." His voice was dull. "You are _burning him_," he enunciated, louder this time. Trelk took a confused step back as if the words were sinking in to his tiny brain. Panic seized him as the horrid realization dawned on him. In that moment, Sedjow remembered his fury and his strength... and that dagger he'd kept on his belt. The next thing Trelk knew was a blaring pain and the blood spurting from his arm.

The stoat screamed and dropped to one knee. The fox chieftain was upon him almost immediately to deliver the blade between his eyes. Trelk slumped to the ground in a bloodying heap, his forearm slashed in half and dangling from the rest of his body by a flap of skin and a tendon. _Your gloatin' was your undoin'... you fool._

Sedjow scrambled to his footpaws, suddenly finding himself dizzy. He looked down at his side where his paw had been cupping the wound. Sticky blood oozed between his claws. He pulled his trembling paw away from it and saw the pink and red of the severed flesh. He was not to last long. The pain came to replace the adrenaline and the fox grunted in anguish, crumbling to his knees.

_It's too late._ Sedjow stayed on his knees, tears burning his eyes. His wife's tent was gone and she was probably dead with the rest of his tribe. The ferretbabe's tent was in ashes as well. In all the chaos, he had to be. He was dead and soon he would be reborn into the world to curse another poor soul.

At least now, he was some other beast's curse.

* * *

The sun beat down upon the desert plains, drying up the air and whatever little energy Birger had. The riverdog sighed in frustration at the expanse of sand and sparse grass set before him. Why anybeast would want to approach Southsward from the North was beyond him. He took slipped out of his uniform, a navy blue tunic with an insignia of a sword. It was far too hot out here to tolerate two layers of clothes.

"An otter is not meant to be so far from water," he complained to his company.

"It's just the same old patrol for a month," a mouse reassured him, following suit and shedding his own uniform. "Now quit complaining, whiny-whiskers."

"Whiny-whiskers?" he scoffed back, continuing on the trail. "Surely even ya could come up with something better than that." The mouse grinned back, though the expression was more forced than anything. The otter groaned inwardly at the reassuring and pitying look. And now, here came the painfully-predictable question that everybeast _had_ been asking.

"Hey Birger," the mouse began awkwardly. "How's everything?"

"You might as well ask me what it's like to be skewered by a fire poker," Birger replied tersely. He continued forward, refusing eye contact with the mouse.

"I see..."

"Just stop with the questions, Pickner," the otter muttered. "It gets pretty tiring, havin' t' explain how horrible it is to you lot."

A pathetic "I'm sorry" was all his friend could muster. _Sorry_. More than anything, that word was one of the most irritating things in the world. Apologies. Apologies for what? It was not as if it was anyone's fault. It was not as if there really was some valid reason to blame them somehow.

_If only I could._ If only there was someone to blame besides himself for his loss. Someone he could take his rage on, to slam his fists against a face instead of a wall. But no, there was only he, Wayla, and the lifeless babe swaddled in knitted blankets. Wayla was not the same after that. She had stopped eating and barely left the bed. Going back to his work was all that Birger could do to distract his tortured mind from the tragedy and his wife's torment. If only momentarily, it returned some purpose to his life.

But even here, his life seemed surreal. It was an illusion. The memories stayed tucked in the back corners of his mind, pestering him and letting him know that all that would greet him at home would be heartache. And all of the fools around him were nothing helpful with all of their sympathies and tears. They were not suffering. Not truly. Those tears and worthless condolences were more customary than anything else.

The only one who could understand was the general. General Dirk, who said and did nothing when they lit the funeral pyre in flames. The great general of Sword did not trifle himself with trivial matters, but he came to the funeral anyways. No words were given, no hugs or pats on the shoulder were needed. No questions, no tears. Only the most discreet of nods was sent. Such a simple gesture... and yet, that was the only bit of comfort that Birger had.

It's a strange thing when peace could be pulled from shared pains. Perhaps that was why his superior had showed up to the funeral. Birger seldomly spoke with the sea otter and was not in a position of notable rank. Why would his superior come to grieve with a lowly foot soldier? The otter mulled over the question.

Perhaps something similar happened to him. It would certainly explain why he said nothing. Not for aloofness, but for loss of words... He understood and accepted the simple fact that nothing could be said to take away the pain- much less bring the infant back. He understood that loss, that hopelessness, that utter helplessness.

"Birger." Pickner's panicked voice snapped him out of his morbid thoughts. "Birger!"

"What?"

"Do you hear that?" The mouse's eyes were wide as he darted forward. Birger stood his ground, dumbly registering the faint mewling sound in the distance.

_A babe?_ He dashed off on Pickner's trail, spurting forward with all the energy he could muster. How could an infant wind up in the edge of a barren desert? Why would anybeast take it there? It would spell nothing but death.

The wailing intensified and Birger found himself drenched in sweat. He surpassed Pickner, sprinting towards the tiny little bundle beside a boulder and half buried in sand. It was all alone in the hot, dry sun. _How could anybeast be so cruel?_

He stopped short of the little creature, catching his breath only when he picked the baby out of the ground. The infant's cries intensified upon contact and Birger found himself comforting the babe.

"Hush now," he whispered. "I got ya, matey. Hush." Instinct quickly overthrew what little apprehension he had. In the blink of an eye, the babe's head and tiny wrists were resting on his shoulder while he rubbed its back. It seemed to him that, right at that moment, his posture was locked in place and that the infant just naturally belonged there.

Even with that tiny bundle squalling into his ear, the otter had never felt so at peace. Pickner arrived beside him, catching his breath and studying the little creature. He had to point out the obvious.

"It's a ferret, all right," he muttered, the contempt hardly disguised in his voice. Birger's brows jerked upwards, but he never stopped cradling the child. He let his arms give just a little, smoothly catching and maneuvering the little one so that it was cupped against his chest. He looked down at the little face as it continued to wail.

"I didn't really take a look at 'im," he murmured. It certainly was a infant ferret, but that was hard to tell by the fur. It shared the same beautiful deep red that squirrels and foxes had- an unusual color for a ferret. Faded, tan blotches dotted themselves around the ferret's eyes, his shiny little snout was dusted with sand, his teeth were just little stubs peeking out of his gums... and he had such stunningly blue eyes. Innocent eyes. Birger didn't know much about ferrets or infants, but from the looks of him, he was little more than a month old.

He unraveled the blanket a little and peeked underneath it. "Boy," he confirmed.

"He's got some fancy fur, but he's still just a vermin," the mouse frowned. "Just leave him here. Whoever had him doesn't want him and he's making too much noise as he is."

"It's just a liddle'un," the otter said defensively. "A crying newborn is a healthy one. Though, he seems a little scrawny- even for a babe."

"What are you going to do with it?" Pickner questioned with an exasperated sigh. Birger gave him a sideways look and turned back towards the trail.

The mouse's jaw swung open for a good second before he could manage his words. "Oh... you can't be serious."

"Whoever left him there left him to _die_." This seemed to set up another squall at the mention of his supposed fate. "No items, no note, no tracks, no nothin'!"

"There might be a reason for that!" Pickner huffed as he followed after the otter in a dogged pace.

"Because they are _evil_." Birger rounded upon his companion, his face only inches from the mouse's. "They are evil and greedy and selfish and we are nothing like them. We don't kill the weak and we don't condemn infants to death." Silence followed before Birger turned on his heels, rushing the screaming ferret the the Southsward gates. From the deathly confines of the sand, the babe was brought to face another fate.

Strange things were happening in Southsward. The otter was aware of that much, though the magnitude of his actions that day could not have been foreseen... Not by him, anyways.


	3. The Stolen Warrior

**Special thanks to the reviewers of Chapter 2: ferretWARLORD, RapmarkSkaup, Lord Vrel, Saraa Luna, Airan's Enigma, Quaver Ava, and Rhosan (guest). You guys are awesome and I hope to keep up with your expectations. Speaking of which, a couple things I want to say to you.  
**

**1) Posts will be on Thursday nights or Friday mornings and will occur on a weekly basis. I already have five future chapters lined up, but for the sake of pacing and avoiding horrible writer's block, I'll keep them in my pocket for back-up.  
**

**2) I will be trying something new: first-person narrative. Ever since I read The Bartimaeus Trilogy by Jonathan Stroud (and "The Strings Snapped" fanfiction), I've been thinking more about it. For starters, it is a lot more engaging to read and it allows for more connection to the characters. I've always wanted to try it, so if I seem a bit new at this, do forgive me. Advice would be greatly appreciated and implemented in future chapters.  
**

**3) The first-person narration will switch between the three main characters: the Stolen Warrior, the Wayward Traveler, and the Fledgling Lord. To avoid confusion, I will put their actual names at the bottom of every chapter title. Also, every now and then there will be an "intermission" chapter where I introduce various other things in the usual third-person writing that I'm used to.  
**

**Anyways, without further ado, let us begin. :)  
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* * *

**The Stolen Warrior  
**Asch Waycaster

_Morality is simply the attitude we adopt towards people whom we dislike.  
_- Oscar Wilde

* * *

I was the ripe age o' eighteen seasons when it started. Out in the desert where I was found, I guess that's the right place to start. Just out in the place where m' past was wiped away like pawprints in the sand. Only, unlike pawprints, I guess my origins were somethin' that could be resurfaced. But I'm ramblin' now.

That day, my unit was winding down from one of our missions. I held a stack of tinder wood in me arms and let me tell ya, getting a conversation goin' with our quarry was harder'n startin' a fire.

"My name is Asch Waycaster," I introduced warmly. "That's Asch... pronounced like 'ash' the tree or whatever's left behind after a fire. So there. Don't go running around and stickin' a '_ch_' sound on my name, got it?"

Embers crackled into the air as I fed the rest of the flimsy branches to the flames. The little stoat just curled into himself, clinging to the blanket wrapped 'round his shoulders like a bat with its wings. The poor mite was scared stiff, crying to himself all day while we escorted him back to Southsward. To my relief (and the relief of my troupe), he was crying _quietly _to himself.

I can't say I could blame him. He was what- only eight seasons? Nah. From the scrawny looks of 'im, I'd say he was seven seasons. But that's not the point. _The point_ is that he was far too little to run away all on his lonesome. The runaways usually have buddies to work with, but this one's accomplice was captured before he could even make it out of the gates. He was lucky for that too.

Let me tell you, our little escapee here was probably as sharp as mud. I have no idea what kind of beast sprints for the deserts when the South and East are full of lush forests, but this one just _had_ to make us trek through sand for half a day only to drag his half-dead body around with us. If we didn't find him, the elements surely would have claimed him by the next nightfall.

I hunkered down between a squirrel and a fox and warmed myself by the fire. It's a strange thing, deserts. It's like a stove in Hell during daylight but cold enough to freeze your tail off by nightfall. The weather there just couldn't make up its mind. Birger always liked to joke that the desert and a wife had a lot of things in common.

"Asch." I turned to Fidchell absentmindedly. The fox was a quiet and somehow authoritative figure. If y'spoke to him, y'might have thought that he was actually much older than he really was. He was just that sort of fellow. "You get first watch tonight."

"What?" I protested. "But this is the second night in a row."

"Is it too hard for da widdle fiery ferret?" the squirrel next to me mocked in a childish voice. Like Fidchell and I, he proudly wore the navy blue sword uniform, the silver insignia of a skyward sword pinned over his heart. He moved to unroll his blanket while I attempted an excuse.

"I'm just sayin' that we should take turns," I explained. "In the last mission, I was up half the night while you an' Barlow got a full night o' shut-eye."

"Well don't forget the fact that both of us didn't have a wink of sleep the night before that," Red argued back. His bushy tail twitched as though it had a pulse of its own. "Unlike you, the rest of us actually have to do night patrol every once in a while."

I opened my mouth for a counter-argument, though all I found was air instead of words. He smirked a little, tilting his head towards me as if daring me to smack 'im.

"Enough." Everybeast turned to look at Fidchell as he motioned the woodlander to finish unpacking. "Congratulations, Red, you've just won an argument against a beast who has the wits of a brick. Get some shut-eye, why don'cha?"

The squirrel's tail twitched once. Twice. But then he thought better of it and did as he was told. Sometimes I think that that tail of his does a better job at expressing emotions than his own face.

"Right," the fox carried on unfazed as he set his eyes on me. "Asch, you wake me up when the moon is just past its peak. I will carry the watch until sunrise. In the meantime, make sure the prisoner sleeps."

I glimpsed at the little stoat still huddling to himself and saw worry in his eyes. Well, we certainly weren't the band of vermin that he was used to. That lot would stab you in a flash if you say anythin' that could be an insult. Not us, though.

Sword had done a good job at keeping beasts in line. Though Red and I did argue on occasion, we really did get along well... generally. But then again, Red was the kind of beast that picks fights. Whether it's me or Fidchell or any other of the trainees, he'd start arguing against something. Barlow seemed t' be the only one he didn't seem to mind, though. I took a glance at the rat curled up next to the squirrel. Those two were always such a strange pair- Red being the petulant creature that he was while Barlow had always been so quiet and all-around good natured. By logic, those two would hate each other, but if Red had to like anybeast, it would be Barlow.

Everybeast settled in for the night while I drew my knees up to my chest and stared listlessly into the distance. The way the moonlight hit the sand, I could swear I was looking into an endless, lifeless ocean. Not the waters at the port where the ships choke up the scenery. I'm talkin' 'bout the calmer waters on the coast where beaches stretched as far as my eyes could see. I had only seen it a pawful of times, but wow, that place is unforgettable. I sat there, reminiscing on the times that Birger would teach me how to sail a boat or take me fishing. Those were fun and carefree days.

After a while, I looked back at my friends and realized that the little stoat was still sitting up, doing the same as I was but looking towards a different direction. Right then, I supposed it wasn't a bad time to end the boredom.

"Oi." He startled and looked at me with frightened eyes.

"What's your name?"

"Lodj." He licked his lips nervously at the mention of it.

"Well Lodj, you should get some sleep while y'can," I said, trying to hide the concern in my voice. The poor lad looked like he hadn't slept in days or somethin'.

"Can't," he whispered, drawing his knees up to his nose.

"Why not?" He looked at me as if I had asked him the stupidest question in the world. He tilted his head and glanced nervously down at the fire while he wrung his wrists. Well, at that point I could only guess what was on his mind.

"Y'miss your parents, don'cha?"

"Jis' m' Ma." He made a sudden move to wipe a tear from his eye. It was a strange thing. He was sobbing to himself nearly all day and at the mention of his mother, he suddenly decides that it was something shameful to cry.

"It'll get better," I promised. Honestly, when a child is separated from his parents and everything he knows, well... the only direction left to go is up. Though I have to admit, looking back at that moment, those words were just empty promises.

"Hey, I've been in Sword all m'life." I jabbed a thumb against my chest. "Been doin' trainin' since the day I learned t'walk and I turned out fine."

The stoat only blinked up at me with blank, moonish eyes that made me feel as if I was all exposed or somethin'. Don't know why, but eh... perhaps _I_ wasn't th' best o' examples for the tyke.

"Weeeeell... take Fidchell, for instance." I nodded at the snoozing fox's direction. "He was taken from his parents and put in Sword when he was even younger than you- and _now_ look at him. He's almost a full-fledged soldier of Sword, Southward's finest." I paused for a second, eager to delve into a lesson.

"Do you know what Sword stands for?" I asked, scooting closer to him. Lodj shook his head. "It stands for Southward's Order of Defense- basically the protectors of the kingdom. See, you take the S and W from Southsward and take the O R from Order. Add everythin' together, and you get Sword. It's not really a real acronym in that sense, but Sword makes much more sense than 'Sod.' Ha!" The stoat just stared blankly back at me while I chuckled to myself.

"Well, you'll learn how to read," I assured him. "They teach ya all sorts of stuff at Sword other than fighting drills and weaponry. They teach ya to read, to write, medicine, history, music... You name it. And hey, if ya don't like fighting, y'can always go into the other divisions."

He didn't need to say anything. All he had to do was look at me in a disbelieving way, but at least now he seemed a little more responsive to conversation. I handed him a heel of bread from my rucksack while I continued.

"If you hate fighting, you can always join the Division of Medicine, Division of Masonry, the Division of Smithin', or... something else. My team and I are in the Division of Defense where we train to protect Southsward and its interests." I nodded my head towards my sleeping companions. "These beasts are my team.. brothers in arms. We work together on missions and training so that we can gauge our strengths and weaknesses an' how to handle a situation."

"But don'cha fight?" he asked between mouthfuls while pointing to Red. "Dat squirrel spoke back t' ya and dat fox insulted ya in front of your group. Called yer smart as a brick."

Ah, the vermin and their petty, savage ways. Throwing punches and knives at even so much as a hint of an insult. How would I explain this to him?  
I simply shrugged my shoulders.

"Fighting rarely accomplishes anything," I replied. "Besides, Red is always a little... grumpy. And Fidchell's me matey. He and I get along swimmingly. Whatever he said 'bout me, he said outta good intentions."

"But you're the Fire Ferret," he insisted. "The ferret with fur like fire? That's you, ain't it?" Well, that's one thing about me. From an early age, everybeast made it clear that I was _unusual_. Birger always joked that I stick out like a badger in a barrel.

"Aye."

"But yore th' strongest!" he waved his paws the air, his eyes full of awe and excitement. "Th' other vermin in Southsward say that nobeast can beat you! Even General Dirk in 'is early days'd be beat. If the bushtail wanted t'get the treerat t'quit jabbering, why din't ya just smack the squirrel instead?"

Again with the small-minded vermin mentality when it comes to authority. I've seen it time and time again with the new recruits. You would think that being separated from their parents and everything they know would put things in perspective for them, but give 'em a day and they'll start squabbling amongst themselves to establish dominance. Y' would think that they would bond together in support of uncertain times, but instead they start reverting to their usual ways. Stupid. Physical strength is no way to gauge leadership or justice.

"Hey Asch." Lodj's irritating nasally voice brought me back to our conversation. "Why're yew on their side? You're a vermin too. Why're yew helpin' woodlanders plunder'n take us as slaves? Yore on th' wrong side."

I had to scoff at that. The mere notion that I should be with those savages. And _enslavement_?!

"Oh," I chuckled slightly, my voice empty of any humor. "So you're sayin' that if vermin enslave an innocent woodlander, s'all good. But if a woodlander saves a mangy little horde brat from the vermin life and sticks 'im in a home with food, clothing, and an education, it's a _bad thing_?"

Lodj shrank back from my rising voice, tears welling up in his eyes. "No," he replied, though I continued on my tirade.

"'Cause let me tell you, if Sword didn't find your sorry hides first, some other vermin would've, and that would be the end of it. Vermin packs slaughter each other without thought or conscience. Male, female, mother, child... it makes no difference to them so long as they get their loot. And that's when they deal with their _own kind_. Well, y'should see what they do when they find a poor woodlander family. All that we do is protect the innocent and maintain peace all while sparin' your sorry hide and giving you an actual purpose in life."

Lodj stared back at me with confusion and fear. At that point, it seemed to me that those were the only two emotions that these barbarians could ever feel. Without a sound, I turned to poke the fire back to life with a stick. The vermin sat there for a while until he suddenly let out a thin mewling sound followed by an eruption of sobs. I cringed as my friends stirred, sitting up with drowsy and irritated expressions.

"What now?" Red complained.

The brat choked out a few words as he cupped his face in his paws. All I could make out behind that garbled speech were "I don't wanna go back t' Southsward." Barlow pulled himself out from underneath his blankets and rushed to calm the stoat.

"There now, stop crying," the rat said firmly. He pat the boy's shoulders as he tried a few comforting words. Whatever Barlow said, it seemed to being doing the trick.

Red waved at me. "Scaring the little children with your face again, huh?" I ignored him and looked to Fidchell.

"What happened?" the fox asked as he laid his head back down.

"He was just askin' stupid questions," I muttered, glancing at the stoat as he relayed our conversation to Barlow. "Told 'im that Sword was for the best and that he should quit whining about it."

"Well that's enough of that," Fidchell replied. It was clear that he wasn't buying my story; I could already see the disappointed look on 'is face and I found myself ashamed at the way I handled my emotions. "Maybe you should get some sleep," he continued, rubbing his eyes. "I'm awake now, so I can take the watch from here."

Red plopped himself back down under his blankets while Fidchell ordered Barlow and Lodj to get some rest. After all, we still had to trek for half a day to get back to Southsward. I laid myself down, covering myself with my blankets while I unsuccessfully waited for sleep to take me. It was hard enough finding comfort while all that irritating sand covered my fur and the guilt kept coming back to me.

It wasn't fair that Fidchell was taking my watch for me and it certainly didn't seem right that I had yelled at Lodj the way I did. He was just a child askin' questions and trying to find comfort in more familiar beasts. I threw my blankets off of me and set scooted closer to Fidchell. He watched me with impassive golden eyes as I sat beside him.

"I can take the rest of the watch," I whispered. "Go get some sleep."

"I'm not exactly tired," he replied, pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders. I nodded and we sat there for a moment, sharing the silence as the others slept on.

"Do you ever wonder about your parents?" Fidchell suddenly asked. "Your _real_ parents." I have to say, the question surprised me a bit. The fox was never known to chatter too much, but when he did, it almost always meant that a solemn discussion was to follow. For the three seasons that we had been tossed in the same unit, I had not known him to openly laugh at anything or with anyone.

"No..." I admitted. "Well, sometimes. Yeah."

"Do you hate them?" An odd question from anybeast else, but not from him.

"For abandoning me? I can't quite hate what I don't know," I replied. The fox's ears swiveled and the corners of his lips twitched upwards in an almost-smile. I knew from that moment that he didn't agree with me.

"I think about my parents all the time," he stated flatly. "I don't remember them clearly, though. I do know that they weren't moral- even by vermin standards. But what I do remember is my mother's dead corpse draped over me, her back punctured with so many arrows that I could have mistaken her for a hedgehog. I don't know if she died protecting me or if she was leaving me behind before her end."

"I- I'm sorry," I said dumbly. We normally aren't allowed to talk about our previous lives as vermin, but for some reason I couldn't bring myself to stop Fidchell.

"I couldn't have been more than five seasons then, but I saw more dead bodies and blood at that age than many others probably see." He shivered at that and wound his blanket even tighter around himself. I calculated things in my head. Given that we are roughly the same age, I was probably learning how to fish or fire arrows that day he was orphaned.

"The children were crying and survivors were begging as the vermin were rounded up. I was taken and they brought me to Southsward where all the other vermin cubs were being kept. I was terrified and I kept on thinking that the next day would be my last."

"But we treated you well," I pointed out.

"They did." The fox nodded absentmindedly, staring off into the distance. "But I keep thinking that... that as much as my old horde was probably as evil and violent as the next, I didn't want them to die. My mother and father were in there and though I may have gotten out alive, that day still haunts me."

A part of me wanted to say they deserved it and the other part wanted t' tell him that it was all behind him now. But either way, I don't think that any words would've helped his grief. My own real parents could be very well dead and it wouldn't matter at all t'me. If Birger and Wayla were killed, however, I don't know what I'd do. But neither of them were dishonest or murderous. They were good beasts, unlike the scum that were my real parents.

Fidchell looked at me again- a sad and solemn look. His golden eyes seemed to intensify by the clear moonlight. I hated that look; it made me feel all self-conscious, as if he was lookin' at something that wasn't me. Maybe through me? Hell, if looks could pierce... _The warrior's look_, Dirk calls it. If anything, it had to be it. It's something hard to describe and you'd have to see it to understand, so I'm not even going t' try to define it in m' own words. When training me, Dirk had said that I don't have the warrior's look yet, though he made it clear that Fidchell had whatever it was that I lacked.

"The thing is," Fidchell began, his voice cool as stone, "I don't want to harm or kill my own kind. I might be an honorary woodlander, but I'm still a fox in a blue uniform. I _dread_ graduating from this training age and going on to kill other creatures."

"Then join another division. Go to the Healing Division or something."

"I can't." The fox looked away and stared off into the distance again. "If you want change, you have to do it from the inside."

That was the last thing that Fidchell said that night. I just stood watch with him, thinkin' on my own feelings. I hated vermin and I still couldn't understand how Fidchell could grieve for such horrible beings. But whatever change Fidchell was talking about, it was going to come sooner than either of us thought.


	4. The First Danger

**Special thanks to those who reviewed Chapter 1: RapmarkSkaup, Saraa Luna, Rhosan (get a username so that I can thank you via PM), Free Thought, ferretWARLORD, and Airan's Enigma.**

* * *

**The First Danger  
**_Asch Waycaster  
_

_"All things are difficult before they are easy." _- Thomas Fuller

* * *

It's true what Lodj said 'bout me bein' the best. I think that the last time I was defeated in sparring was five seasons ago. Ever since then, it was as if fighting was a natural part o' me. Didn't matter with what weapon or what beast or if I was unarmed or outnumbered - whoever was on the opposite side of the ring was clearly outmatched. I instantly became the awe and envy of every beast in Sword. From children to captains... Hell, even General Dirk was jealous of me. The chief commander of Sword jealous of _me._

"Even in me prime, I could only _dream_ of doin' the stuff you do," the otter often told me as he clapped me on the shoulder.

But I had the best teacher.

If Birger was like a father t'me, then Dirk was an uncle. The sea otter had been in my life since I was... well, for as long as I can remember. Ma would always complain that he had been stealing me since the day I learned to walk. It was an exaggeration, but even Birger says that Dirk would take me out to archery practice or sparring when I was just a pup.

I can't tell ye 'ow many times I woke up sore from wielding weapons all day. Or about the blisters and bruises I got. All the crazy trainin' and tests that he would rig up for me...

One time took me out t' the middle o' the forest and left me there to fend for m'self. I was lost for two days with absolutely nothing but the shirt on me back. I was only eight at the time and I still remember him orderin' me not t'tell my parents. It was a good thing he told me not to. They would have been furious enough to kill.

I _hated_ him for leavin' me out there all alone. If I had told my parents the truth, nothin' would 'ave changed but I didn't have much o' anything t'lose. But I lied for 'im. I covered for 'im and came to training the next day and the next with hardly a peep o' complaining. Even now, I still dunno why I never told on him. It might've been a sense o' accomplishment for survivin' somethin' like that. Or it might'a been that I was just plain afraid of him. Whatever the reason, I stuck to it. Whether it was weaponry, boxing, wrestling, survival, disguises, acrobatics- he'd name it and I'd be there.

He might sound a tad harsh t'ya, but Dirk explained t'me that Southsward could be a dangerous place for vermin. While Birger and Ma would tell me that all of the kingdom would love me in time, the general treated me like an adult. No fairy tales or lies... just the cold, heart-breaking truth: that I was allowed to stay with my adopted family only because he pulled a couple strings in the King's Court.

I don't know what makes him like that... all cold and cruel enough to tell a child that the world hates him. I still remember how he grabbed my wrist and, eye level with me, he said "Give 'em half a reason and these 'goodbeasts' would throw you out of the gates to fend yourself fer the rest o' your days. Mark me words, boy, bein' allowed ain't the same as bein' welcome."

I understood then. If somethin' were to happen, he wanted to make sure that I'd have a fightin' chance.

His trainin' might have been rough, but it would save my life many many times. That day, out in the desert, I would face down my first real danger.

* * *

We started traveling again at first light. The day unwound slowly and as the darkness began to melt away, we began to feel the warmth creep back to the air. The swelterin' desert seemed to change shape around us. The flat sea of sand became raised ridges of pebbly sand. Traveling on these, we had to be a little more cautious. One misstep would send us sliding down a slope of sand. Mind ya, this wasn't horribly dangerous or anything, but d'ya know how hard it is to climb up sand with provisions on your back? Slows the pace too much.

Troublesome as it was, it was beautiful in its own quiet way. Birger said that everythin' can be beautiful if you look at it at the right angles. I'd think it's beautiful because I knew I was going to live, but for some lost or stranded beast, this view would practically spell death. What possessed Lodj to travel way out here, I'm not sure.

All morning, I tried conversations with our quarry, but the stoat seemed unresponsive to my efforts. Geez, I really wanted to make it up t'the guy for yellin' at him the way I did. Though, I don't think it was personal or nothin'. In fact, the closer we got to home, the longer his face got. As far as I could tell, Lodj was nervous about returning.

"You're not going to get in trouble," Barlow said to him.

"How d'ye know dat?" the stoat asked, trotting up to the rat so that they were in stride.

"We've gone after several other runaways," he shrugged. That was something hard to believe, since Barlow looked barely older than a kid himself. His blue uniform was too baggy and that black cap of his made his face look fragile and kinda girly. Sometimes, he even sounded like a kid. But then again, he was younger than us by a season or two.

"We just take them back, sit them down, and make them understand that there's nothing to go back to," he continued. "No punishments, no nothing. Your place is in Southward now, you understand?"

"But m'Ma's still somewhere out there," the kid protested meekly, nodding at our trail of pawprints behind us.

"Your Ma is gone, brat," Red announced. "She's gotten rid of her baggage and now she's free to roam wherever she wants. It's for the best." Barlow opened his mouth to speak, but the runt beat him to it.

"No it's not," he flared. "Dey took me from 'er. She _wanted_ me. We were goin' t' 'e ocean someday." His voice began to diminish as he cast another forlorn look behind us- as if he hoped to see his mom wandering somewhere in the distance. I'm tellin' ya, if she was really out here by herself, she was probably dead. If it was the ocean that she was goin', the desert would be the shortest path but if she had any brains, she'd take the forest route.

"Why the ocean?" The squirrel's question was asked simply and innocently, though anybeast who knew him would know it was a trap. The kid opened his mouth, closed it, opened his mouth, and closed it again. He looked like a fish gasping for water.

Well, at least he was smart enough not to openly admit to wantin' the pirate life.

"We was jis' travelin'," he finally managed. "We was jis' travelin', my troop an' us. But _yew_ stopped us and took me from 'er." He tried to be discreet as he swiped a paw across his eyes. "If she din't want me, why was she cryin'?" Red half-turned but dropped it. When he sets his mind to it, the squirrel can be a real pain in the ass. But he's no bully- not a true one, really. Even he didn't like the sight of a crying kid... even if Lodj was a vermin.

Fidchell said the next words, "Red, enough." But this conversations was long over and neither of us really had the appetite to pick at old wounds. We had all lost our mothers at some point. I still had Wayla, but I guess I've lost my real mother in a sense. Never knew what she was like.

My Ma would tell me that all beasts were born loving their mothers. For some vermin, that love dies quickly, but for others, it actually lasts. In all my seasons at Sword, I've seen countless new recruits wailing for their parents. The old stories of vermin hordes would make ya think that they're all a bunch of heartless blackguards, but they can surprise ya. They can do horrible things, no doubt... but they can still surprise ya.

Lodj's case was probably one of those mishaps, the one where our patrols run across a band o' vermin and take the liddle'uns. Sometimes it don't matter to the vermin band so long as they can move along and sometimes it gets all complicated and emotional.

I glanced over at Fidchell. I didn't know what he thought about all of this. I could tell that he sympathized with the kid, but he's not one for kind words. That was Barlow's sort of thing. And even if I wanted t' speak up... well, I still wouldn't know what to say.

"Oof!" I walked straight into Red's back.

The squirrel had stopped suddenly and was looking to the right, tail twitching and swaying about like an indecisive dowsing rod.

"What is it?" We practically asked that question in unison.

"I thought I saw something shiny." Without another word, he shed his backpack and stepped off the ridge and let gravity carry him down to the bottom. I don't know anything 'bout that squirrel and his obsession with shiny things, so I'm not even gonna try explainin'. The rest of us just watched as he ran a little ways away from us and got on his knees to inspect the ground. Whatever it was, it interested him. Gold? Jewelry? Weapons?

He waved something in our direction, though it was too far to see. But just as he was walking back to rejoin us, I knew something was wrong.

It was a sliver of movement in the corner of my eye. I glanced to my left to see a large dark hole set in within a mix of sand and rubble; it was tall enough for me to walk through and I knew right then what it was.

A little skittering sound and spidery legs proved m' gut instincts right. But those things weren't supposed to be this close to the kingdom. Deeper in the desert, but not here.

"Red-"

It moved again within that darkness and I think that everybeast noticed this time. The squirrel stopped in his tracks, realizing that he was standing right at the doorstep of a scorpion nest. He stared at the mouth of the yawning entrance, eyes wide and focused. Not even his tail twitched.

One second. Two. He bolted in an explosion of movement, scrambling up the slope of the sand as fast as he could. The scorpion followed, emerging from its nest with all the speed that its spindly six legs could give 'im. It was a lobster-like creature with the blackest, most metallic sheen I had ever seen. Its length was longer than five of me and his pincers were so large, I was surprised that it could even lift them off the ground. One quick snip of that and it would have a limb.

Then there were the pale, maggot-white blobs that twitched and writhed on top of its back in a frenzy. Birger never told me about those... whatever those things were. What were those things? Some kind of sick disease?

But that's not what I was supposed to be afraid of. While its pincers could do some real damage, the venom in that stinger was guaranteed to kill. It dangled over the scorpion in a way that made me think of a gallow rope; but instead of hanging limply, it was lunging about as if it had a life of its own.

Fidchell was the first to act.

He dashed forward, surfing down the sand and skidding to a clumsy halt in front of Red before unsheathing his sword. Barlow stumbled down after, yankin' the squirrel's arm as if it could speed his escape. But Red was merely flailing his footpaws, propellin' his body up while his paws uselessly grappled at empty sand. But as unsteady and difficult as the terrain was, this scorpion creature was born for this type of environment.

I stood at the top, the air froze in my lungs and my muscles like stone. Every time I blinked, that thing was twenty paces closer. I didn't even have the sense to draw my weapon until the creature was nearly upon my friends.

I bolted forward and down, slamming my footpaws against the ground before allowing myself to slide down the sand- momentum, gravity, and will practically shoving me with every force they've got.

Knees bent and leaning forward for spurts of speed, I sailed past the others like a blur. I gripped my sword with both paws, my heart-beat racing as I stared my opponent in the face- if that's what you'd call that thing. I held my blade in front of me, not low to the center of my belly, but up next to my face and pointing forward; my right arm crossed over my chest and my left arm was raised, the elbow pointing straight behind me while the blade aimed straight at the center of the creature's head.

I swear it saw me comin' 'cause its fangs raised and spread as if to greet me. Those things were about the size of my arm and... Oh Hell, Birger never told me that they had fangs. I didn't- no, I couldn't stop and I kept going at full speed. Wind ripped through my fur as I braced myself for impact.

Like a battering ram, I crashed head on into the scorpion. My arms crumpled and I felt me legs swing under me as I skid down on my back, my ears echoing with the creature's unearthly squealing. My paws were empty and my arms were moving jerkily as if filled with rust. I leaped back onto my footpaws and yanked one of my daggers from my belt.

"Asch! Asch! Come on!"

My eyes scanned over to m' crew. They were alright; their weapons were drawn and they stood on the top of the dune, urging me to join them. But this thing was too close to the kingdom's little towns. If that thing was ever desperate for food, the villagers would never stand a chance.

This thing would hurt innocent beasts; this thing _had_ to die. I don't know what it was, but I felt confidence surge in me. I knew I could do it. I wasn't the best for nothin'. My life was to protect Southsward and I intended to do it.

The scorpion turned to me, its body slanted so that it was leanin' more on its left than right. I got a good look at my handiwork- my sword buried up to the hilt and jammed straight to the side of its left eye. Its blood trickled down from the wound as it tried to right its stance, its stinger flicking to and fro and all disoriented. The pale blobs on its back bubbled and hissed as if it could feel pain too. The scorpion jittered to the side and one of the globs fell to the ground, sending a splash of sand all 'round it.

I stared in horror as it stood up on its own, twitchin' its six spindly legs as it uncurled its tail and stinger. I gaped at the monstrous thing. It was half the length of my body and it was see-through. I could see its brown little beating heart, the muscles attached to its legs, and some dark black-ish tinge of venom within its stinger. I fought back the bile in my throat.

It was no disease. It was one of the scorpion's hellspawn offspring. I checked the mother and counted up to seven more of its disgusting brood. I gulped as the white blob began walking, testing its muscles as it rotated round and round. And like all babies, it was probably hungry.

I definitely could not allow them to live.

First thing- get those sick bastards off its back. Second thing- find a way to cut off its tail. Birger had told me that the scorpion's stinger is its best weapon but worst weakness. Destroy it or cut it off and it's as good as dead.

I allowed myself another breath of air before I spurt forward again, throwing my dagger with deadly aim. The weapon embedded itself into the bigger scorpion's front left leg and it belched out that horrible sound of pain once again before it bucked and lowered to its left like a crab 'bout to teeter on its side. It was all according to plan. Some more of those disgusting brood tumbled to the ground, but not all of them. Its height compromised, I launched myself onto the sword embedded in its eye, latching with my paws and planting my footpaws onto its face.

I yanked hard, tensing my legs against its thick shell as I put my back into it. The stupid thing wouldn't budge and the creature protested, screeching while its fangs stretched and snapped and its body shook to and fro. My legs gave out as I saw more of the tiny white bunches get thrown off from the top. I screamed as I saw one of 'em tumbling down towards me, but I pivoted just in time so that it fell harmlessly to the ground only to be squashed by its mother's pained rampage.

More blood spurted out of the scorpion's wound, splashing my face and eyes and dribbling down the hilt of the sword. My paws were slipping from the blood and my sweat. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying that the stories weren't true- that its blood wasn't acidic. The very thought of it boiling my eyes to jelly was enough to turn my stomach. I willed myself not to scream. It got into my eyes, I couldn't afford to let it get into my mouth.

I heard its pincers snapping close to me as if right above my ears- a deafening sound a thousand times worse than the worst thunder I'd ever heard.

The scorpion leaned forward again and I felt somethin' like a boulder drop down on me. I broke my resolve and screamed as I felt it latch onto me like thick needles diggin' between my ribs.

A hot poker stabbed into my shoulder, really digging int' my flesh like some twisting dagger; I didn't have any time to react before the mother swung again, the momentum dislodging the hellspawn so that its legs ripped and carved along the length of my back. I screamed again. The blood tasted foul- salty instead of metallic.

"ASCH!" It was like a sound from a distance, a white noise that thrummed uselessly in the air as I hung on for dear life. "AAAASCH!" Fidchell's yell ruptured from his lungs. "THE STINGER!"

I felt the scorpion's body tense up and I opened my eyes. The stinger came down on me like a blur. I swung my body careening to the side, barely dodging a swipe of that death sentence.

"ASCH!" the others called. "HANG ON!"

"DON'T LET GO!"

"BE CAREFUL!"

What the hell did they think I was doin'? But all that training in Sword had never prepared me for this. I always sparred against beasts- thinking, rational beasts. Those sparring partners never meant t' kill me. I was not cut out for this. I didn't feel like a fighter anymore. My arms were limp noodles and my insides turned to water. All thoughts of pain and death whirled about in my skull and I thought I was gonna lose it.

_Keep your mind calm!_ General Dirk's voice boomed out o' the blue and into my mind. _Panic, and you're a deadbeast!_ I grit my teeth. As if a life of its own, the stinger raised poised for another attack, but this time I welcomed it. It prepared myself and I dodged it with relative ease. I exhaled sharply, kicking off with all my might and throwing m'self at its tail as it came back up.

My claws scraped on its slick armor shell as I tried to get a proper hold. It was like hanging on to the edge of a cliff with just the very tips o' your claws. The air felt thin and my stomach flipped in its guts. I kept my eyes open, watching as the world spiraled around me, my vision melding the sky with the chaos below.

I let go the moment the tail was at its peak. As I fell through the air, every fiber of my being was flaring with fear. After all that, I don't know what it was that kept me in control. Even today, I remember how scared outta my wits I was... I'm just surprised that I didn't take off runnin' right then.

I dropped onto the creature's back and expertly rolled to a skidding halt at the edge of its ridged armor. Upon contact, I felt the sensation of being on a boat in a storm. I braced my knees as I struggled to find footing and get traction. The shell was cool to the touch compared to the sweltering desert and felt like black ice. I couldn't imagine keeping it up for much longer- not without somethin' t' hold on to.

Even with its ghostly babies scattered on the ground an' out o' the way, killin' it still wasn't going t'be easy.

I flicked another dagger from my belt and ran to the base of the tail. I stabbed at the shelled flesh- a useless maneuver against its armor. Even with all my force, the dagger only got an inch deep. With my sword stuck somewhere in its face, it seemed that I was almost out of ideas. Almost. There was always the stinger.

I clenched my dagger between my teeth and took two paces back, my eyes on the poised stinger while I balanced myself. The world seemed to shake into blurs as I tried to gain my bearings.

I took a breath in.

... I could hear my team howling battle cries and pulling a string of curses.

I took a breath out.

... The tail plunged itself into useless sand.

Breathe in.

... The stinger looked like a gold thorn stuck on the tip of a towering stem of dark metallic sheen.

Breathe out.

I darted forward, every stride filled with purpose. Even when I reached the tail, my pace didn't slow by a fraction. I made a fluid leap; one second I was on its back and the next I was grappling the tail. The appendage bowed downwards at the unexpected weight while I locked my arms in a strangle hold. I shimmied up, my limbs all raw and bloody and sore from the scrapes its armor gave me.

Up and up and up I went, the tail thrashing 'round like a whip in a windstorm. Every time it jerked, the blade between my teeth sliced the corner of my lips, sending blood trickling down my throat. I ignored it. I had no choice.

Up and up until the stinger was just an arm's length from me. I chanced a look down and saw Lodj and Barlow staring at me with mouths wide open. In an instant, I held my dagger at paw and _smashed_ it into the stinger. I drew the blade to the side, slicing the sticky flesh open like an overripe watermelon. The tail instantly whipped back and nearly sent me flying. My neck suffered from the jarring movement but I clung on and twisted the knife, sawing away at the stinger's pulpy meat.

I lasted only three more seconds before its tail wheeled around and ripped me from my grip. I flew into the air, the sky and sand spinning and spinning like a confused illusion. Every muscle in my body tensed for impact before I collided with the ground, rolling on my sides before ending in an expert half-standing skid.

The scorpion's high-pitched shriekin' exploded into the air as its ugly, stinkin' blood gushed from the hovering stinger. Whatever was left of that evil appendage was slashed and dangling from a single sickening tendon. Blue blood bubbled up from the wound like a dying geyser, drowning the sand in its filth.

Finally, the scorpion lurched to the side, thudding to the ground to bring a wave of sand. Slowly, I pulled my body into an upright position, and surveyed the damage. The first thing I saw were the dead hellspawn that littered the ground. Some where squished and others were packed with arrows or hacked to bits.

I walked around cautiously, noticing the mother scorpion's sliced and bloodied pincers and the arrows jutting out along its body. Its legs, claws, and fangs moved sluggishly, slowly folding itself in as its ruined tail gave its final twitch. I watched as its stone-like orbs for eyes begin to go dull and I breathed a long sigh of relief.

My paws and knees started to shake, but I turned to face my friends. They were covered in blood and just as breathless as I was. Their eyes were wide and wild, their fur stuck up in tussled, blue-blooded tufts. They looked like some of the Juska from the stories and I almost laughed.

"A-Asch." Red's voice was hoarse- probably from all that screamin' he did.

Fidchell moved forward, paws in front of him and motioning me to calm down as if I had reason to panic. "Asch, don't move." I didn't like his tone. It was the kind o' tone ya used on a hyper kid with a knife... the kind o' tone ya use when you don't wanna spook a beast. "It's all going to be alright."

"Well what's all this?" I chuckled nervously. Lodj's eyes were wide as saucers and Barlow was in front o' 'im, motioning him backwards and shaking 'is head as if I was a beast cursed.

Something tapped me on my side and I swear, I must'a gone pale as a ghost. I turned my head slowly, horrified at the maggoty, pasty, worm-like appendage flopping around uselessly as it clung to me back. The pain didn't even sink in until after I screamed.

I screamed so loud that I thought I'd pop a lung. It snapped everybeast out of their trance and into action. I crumpled to my knees as I tried to reach behind me, one arm over my shoulder and the other stretching around my side as I tried to grab that disgusting little insect. It felt slimy against my claws and I spilled my guts all over the ground. Everything I ate since yesterday lay sprawled by my knees, ready to quench the thirsty sand.

"Get it off me! _GET IT OFFA MEEE!_"

Red pinned me down, sandwiching me between him and the puke-drenched ground. He stamped a firm paw against my shoulder blades as a knife slipped into his palm; I felt the tug of my shirt as the squirrel sliced it to expose my bare back. Fidchell sat on my legs, holdin' my paws to my sides as I tried to wriggle out from under them. I howled and kicked and squirmed and wished I could beat them all off o' me.

"Damn you!" I cried. "Damn you all!"

Barlow was next to me, kneeling on the ground as he placed a firm paw against my back, the other paw wrapped around that... that... _thing_.

"On the count of three," the rat announced. My vision swam as the stench of vomit wafted up my snout. I wretched again. "One... Two..."

I couldn't stand it. I couldn't bear it. "JUST DO IT ALREADY!"

"THREE!" I screamed once more. A sound of half pain, half horror. It felt as if he had yanked out a chunk o' me back. He threw the thing into the distance and I watched it fall. The white tail and stinger continued to flop around in the yellow sand like a dying fish. The baby scorpion came to mind. My fading thoughts brought me back to when it latched onto my back with its legs, digging something into my shoulder. The struggling mother must've dislodged it, its tail snapping in half like a useless string.

The weight on my legs left me as Fidchell rushed up to our packs to get the medical kits. The colors of the world began to fade into green and black and the sun was a thousand times too bright.

I sobbed and said something I couldn't understand.

"Asch? Asch!" Red's face was the last thing that I wanted to see. "Asch, hang on buddy. Hang on!"

But the last thing I remembered from that day was Lodj. He was staring at me, sobbing hysterically as he soiled himself. _Of all the times to fin'ly react_, I said in my mind. But it was fear that struck him during the fighting and blood-spattering and killing. What the kid was finally reacting to was the feeling y'get when you see a father fail or a courage die. The kind of feeling when you watch a beast of strength slump to the ground and start squealing like a baby. That feeling, my friend, is despair. My rattled mind grasped at that thin thought; my consciousness began to blur.

I didn't know it then, but I would feel that despair soon enough.

* * *

**A/N: Whew! Long chapter!**

**I didn't quite like this chapter quite as much because scenes with monster fights isn't my specialty. However, I did like showcasing our Taggerung's abilities. What I didn't like about the Taggerung book was that I never got a snapshot at Tagg's life. Was he trained harshly or did his mad skills just come naturally to him? I didn't like the idea of Asch just being good at everything with no training, so I had Dirk practically beat every fighting skill into him.  
**

**And yes, scorpions give birth to live young which live on their mother's back for protection. And no, a scorpion doesn't automatically die when you slice its stinger off. But in Norse mythology, it was believed that if you cut off a limb from an opponent, he'll definitely die. This belief probably stemmed from the high mortality rate from blood loss and infection.  
**

**A reviewer asked about Asch's name and if there's more to it. Well, his name is symbolic. He practically gives it to you in his first line of dialogue in Chapter 1. *hinthint* ;)  
**

**If you liked it, please review. This doesn't feel like my strongest chapter, so please let me know any ways that I can improve on it. Thanks for reading!  
**

**~Jade TeaLeaf  
**


	5. The Wayward Traveler

**Special thanks to last week's reviewers: Free Thought, ferretWARLORD, Airan's Enigma, Saraa Luna, Guest, and Rhosan.**_  
_

**This time, we switch things up a bit with the wayward traveler. :)  
**

* * *

**The Wayward Traveler**  
Miria Wildshore

_I believe in fantasies invisible to me  
In the Land of Misery, I'm searching for the sign  
To the door of mystery and dignity  
I'm wandering down, and searching for the Secret Sun  
_

- .hack/Sign- "Key of Twilight"

* * *

"One room." I slapped five Coppers against the counter while the innkeep studied me. That was fine because I was studying him right back. Not many beasts had seen wolves before- much less peaceful ones. At least, "peaceful" was what they were described in the stories. Funny how the monstrosity behind that flimsy oaken counter seemed anything but peaceable.

I pulled my elbow off his counter but otherwise stood my ground. The giant grey wolf looked thoughtful for a while as he placed two pointed claws over the coins and slid them towards me.

"I do not take metal pieces, she-otter." As much as I disliked that term, it sure beat "ottermaid."

"Then what do you take?"

"I do not take," he rumbled in a thick accent. He shrugged his massive shoulders and I swallowed slightly. With one swing of the arm he could send me flying. With one pawful of claws he could rend me to shreds. Though badgers were bigger, sailors said that the wolves made up the difference with speed and ferocity.

"I..." I glanced back at his black claws and hesitated. "I don't understand. L-look, I've come really far and I need lodging for tonight." One of his paws went underneath the counter and I jumped back, my spear gripped in both paws and at the ready. The innkeep, however, just gave me a startled look.

"Only keys." To show me, he opened his paw slightly to let the keys swing in the air. Silence followed for one second. Two. Then I forced myself to relax my grip and relaxed my spear at my side.

"A'ight," I muttered as he tossed the keys to me.

"Red door. Up the stairs" were his choppy instructions. I couldn't help but nod dumbly and shoulder my pack before I left. Some grand adventure this was turning out to be.

"She-otter!" I half-turned to see the large wolf holding up the coins, pinching them between his thumb and two claws. "You left your metal pieces." I'd nearly forgotten that this looney creature refused payment.

"Keep it." I turned back around. I've always hated parting with money, but I hated pity even more.

* * *

The room was clean, tidy, simple, and had a clear view of the sunset- the way every room was supposed to be. With an inn right atop a hill, I could see the whole spread of the town laid out before me. Huts seemed to stretch out to the plains while the civilians milled about, wolf and woodlander alike. Farther ahead, past the fields, I saw little patches of soil for any sparse farming that these lands could offer. And to cap it all off, the sunset sky seemed to encase everything like a dome that kept this sleepy little town a place of peaceful isolation.

A beautiful view... If I didn't know any better, the establishment was run by a woodlander instead of a savage. But seeing as this town was a mish-mash of both, I could see how civility managed its way int' the far North. It made me wonder what it was like back then, back 25 seasons ago when the combined armies battled the Greymorg forces.

It was a shame that Graymorg went up in smithereens, though. I had always wanted to see a castle. I continued to stare out window for a brief moment and noticed the largest house; it was nearly three times the size of the other homes and lay nestled smack in the middle of all the houses. If I had to guess anything, I bet that it was the Chief wolf's place. "Alphas," the sailors had explained to me. If anyone could further me on my quest, it was them. But given my experiences on the ship and my observations of the town, I'd say that I had enough of sight-seeing for one day... At least until I had a short rest.

I pulled off my cloak, tucked my purse under the pillow, propped my spear against my bed, and finally slipped under the covers. After spending weeks sleeping in a hammock below deck, I'd forgotten what it felt like to sleep in a real bed. It was heaven.

Eyes closed, I focused on drifting off into sleep. But as travel-worn as I was, I felt all of my thoughts and ideas and memories spinning about in my head. I had come from far across the seas- all on a dream of sorts. It seemed so real to me but it could have been a memory that never happened. Many beasts would call it a prophecy or something crazy like that. After all, if I wasn't careful I'd say that I sounded like a seer or prophet or kook or something.

* * *

I woke up to complete darkness and I panicked at the silence. I was used to the background noise of waves and gentle snoring, of talking. But here it was dead quiet and I found myself terrified before I collected my memory. I tilted my head and looked out the window and at a small sliver of a moon. I uncurled myself and gathered the blanket across my shoulders as I stepped closer to the window. Most of the torches were lit and it reminded me of fireflies that set any scenery aglow.

And from the corner of my eye, I saw the Chief's door swing open and allow somebeast in. At that moment I was seized by my mission; I gathered my purse and my spear and threw my cloak on. If I was fast then I could possibly catch them.

Just as I reached for the doorknob I noticed something on the ground. Five Coppers. I don't know when he did it, but the innkeep had slipped the coins underneath the door after I explicitly told him to take it. Was my payment not good enough for him? I didn't need him to take pity on me for being a lone _female_ traveler. I was fully capable of taking care of myself and I wouldn't be alive if I couldn't handle it.

An old and familiar fury flared up within me as I stormed out of the room and made an audible descent from the stairwell.

"Good evening," a wolf greeted me in a higher, more lilting voice. He was younger than the innkeep before, though he seemed like the spitting image- grey fur peppered with black flecks, golden eyes, ugly snout and all. While the first beast that greeted me was nearly twice my height, this thing was only a head taller'n me- no doubt the son. He also seemed several seasons younger than me and it made things all the better.

"What is this?" I slammed the coins onto the counter.

"Five Coppers, ma'am." He blinked and tilted his head in a moronic kind of way. "Is there something the matter?"

"Yes!" I snorted. I could tell by his eyes that he was sickeningly soft. "I tol' the innkeep to take my money but he wouldn't have it."

"Is that a problem?"

"The _problem_, is that I don't take charity, runt." He looked taken aback by the last comment and for a second I thought that I had hit a nerve. Instead, he only seemed wounded.

"My apologies for offending you," he began, "but it is customary that we welcome all peaceful visitors with open arms and expect nothing in return."

"Expect nothing in return? Not even a trade? What kind'a business are you running here?"

He shook his head and answered in a surprisingly smooth and scholar-like voice. "Not a business, but a partnership with Redwall Abbey." That familiar name again. Next he might have said something about Salamander-whatever. "Our pack has always considered them close allies after they aided us during the Greymorg War. Since then, we have lived peacefully among the woodlanders and have built paths that connect our village to the abbey. As homage to our alliance, we agreed to give travelers the same treatment that Redwall gives theirs."

"And you just give a free room... to anybeast?"

He nodded his head. "Everybeast but vermin." I breathed a sigh of relief at that. At the very least, they weren't complete dunderheads.

"A'ight," I replied tersely. "If you insist I take back the payment then fine." I stuffed the coins in my satchel and turned around before a thought came to me.

"Could'ya point me the way to the Chief's cabin?" Just that mere question seemed to brighten his mood.

"Why don't I show you?"

"I can do it m-"

He turned his head towards a back door. "I am leaving on an errand," he yelled as he leaped over the counter. There was some indiscernible response from beyond the door but the young wolf ignored it.

"Come with me," he urged, literally shoving me out the doorway and into the streets. I stumbled a bit but steadied myself, turning furiously back towards the grinning little monster.

"Did you just push me?" I demanded shrilly. "Did you just _push_-" He threw an arm around my shoulders and swept me off and into the streets with him.

"We've got to hurry before my father drags me back into the inn," he said with glee, hot air blustering from his breath. I struggled weakly, feeling so foolishly stupid thanks t' this dumb little wolf mongrel. Here was this soon-to-be hulking beast, fitted with all the tools and ferocity needed to slaughter me, and he was nothing more than some childish thing with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"HEY!" I wrapped my paw around my fist and slammed my elbow into his kidney. His grip slackened and I spun on my heel, freeing my spear in one swift movement before I whacked him on the shoulder with the blunt end.

"Oof!" I held my spear above his shoulder, ready to strike again. This genius, however, was cringing under it and holding his paws up next to his ears with his palms facing me. While my moves would've sent most beasts staggering, this one was more surprised than pained or angry. So much for those famous wolf instincts that the sailors told me about.

Other woodlanders stopped to whisper and stare at us. Bunch o' lousy gossips. If that's all they're good for, I didn't see any reason to think of them.

"Do _not_ touch me," I said slowly. "Got it?"

"I hear you, I hear you," the wolf replied.

"Good." I lowered my spear, twirling it before I stamped it against the dirt ground. The onlookers simply shrugged and began to revert to their business. If y'ask me, they seemed a little too eager for a real fight. Well if I lived in a boring little dirt-pile like this, a fight might be the only thing to look forward to.

"We are far enough," he said, straightening his back. "My father will not come this far for me."

"I'm not sure if anybeast would want you back anyways."

The wolf blinked at me in confusion before breaking off into a short, laughing sort of bark. Great. The last thing I needed was for the runt to get all chummy with me.

"You are funny. You are funny," he said. He extended his arm downwards and held his paw out for a pawshake. "They call me Inlo." Inlo. A quaint name for an inn-keep's son.

"Just take me to the Alphas," I huffed, spinning on my heels as I headed uphill. I didn't look back but I imagined his ears drooping in disappointment.

"But you're supposed to tell me your name," he insisted, catching up with me in just a few clumsy long-legged strides.

"What does it matter t'ye?"

"Because I wish to know everything." I snorted at that.

"I speak of the truth!" he insisted, pulling ahead of me. "I do not meet many travelers around here."

"You live in an _inn_," I reminded him.

"The inn still does not have many travelers," he said sheepishly. I groaned inwardly before I relented to his request.

"Miria... Miria Wildshore," I replied, crossing my arms and looking down on him from my uphill position. "Don't you forget it and no more questions." He nodded at that and I enjoyed a nice moment of silence as I maneuvered my way around the place. Wolves and woodlanders alike, living so peacefully. It was a little disappointing. I wanted to see the savage brutality of the wolves- to know that there was maybe something more interesting out there instead of these domestic little livelihoods.

"What I meant before was...," Inlo began _again_, "... was that I do not see many travelers or warriors like you."

"Like me?" I snorted, digging the butt of my spear into a crevice in the dry, dirt road. Traveler, yes. Warrior, no. I don't fight for the weak or any of that fluffy stuff.

"Most travelers here are peddlers," he chattered, gesturing excitedly with his massive paws. "They come and go with the wind and they already know so much of us. The warriors that visit are usually from Redwall or the Long Patrol, coming in groups to make sure that we are well. But you come alone, a complete stranger to us and the Wolf's Way. My father told me of how you tried to make him accept coins and how you seemed surprised by our good treatment. You come here on a journey, yes? From far away?"

"That's my business."

"Where are you from?"

Silence.

He walked in front of me as if to remind me of his annoying presence. I was already tempted to rip my own ears off if it would just rid me of his nagging questions.

"How long have you been traveling?"

I shouldered past him.

"You seem skilled with a spear." Wow. We've got a sharp one here. "Would you kill a beast with it?" I allowed a break in my stride as my patience snapped.

"Would I be bringin' it if I wouldn't?" The pup retreated by a few steps as I stared him down. "'Cause if you think that I am weak, we can start a fight right here and I'll end it with a spear in yer tail." Inlo only took another pace back as he avoided my eyes. Good enough.

We continued on in blissful silence, me trudging forward while my so-called guide trailed behind me in a sulky kinda way. Eventually, the path to the Alpha's house became visible to me and I saw a watervole leave through the door, turning around for one last statement before her friendly departure. I shoved ahead, stumbling up the cobblestone steps, bumping past the villager, and catching the door before it closed.

"Excuse me, excuse me," I panted, at the same time wondering why I even felt the urge to run towards them. "I need to speak to the Alphas."

The creature on the other side of the door blinked at me as I stood straight. "I need to speak to the Alphas," I repeated, trying my hardest to catch my breath. I had been searching all this time and now I had finally come so close to the truth. The door swung open to reveal a lighted room and a silvery large wolf that stood even taller than Inlo's father. If I had to guess, he was older than the age of fifty seasons- definitely old enough to have fought during the Grey War. Inlo stepped up beside me and dipped his head.

"Greetings, Asrun-khan. This is Miria Wildshore." 'Not sure what the 'khan' thing was about, but the young wolf introduced me in a surprisingly mature voice; if he had any bad feelings about the way I gave him a verbal (and physical) beating, he sure didn't show it. "She is a visitor that has just come to our inn. Miria," he motioned a paw towards the wolf at the door. "This is our Alpha, Asrun. He and his mate Ora are the leaders of the village." Asrun nodded his head, giving me a regarding look before he motioned us in.

"You must be cold," he said in that thick accent of his. To me, it seemed that Inlo was the only wolf that spoke somewhat like a normal beast. Perhaps it was because he was born into an age of peace and living closely with woodlanders. I took a step inside before the Alpha barred me with a sturdy arm.

"No weapons." He looked to my spear. Though the blade was covered in cloth and it looked like a toothpick in comparison to this size, I suppose it was just a level of formality. I had never parted with it, though. Living on my own trained me to be prepared at all times.

"I will return it to you when you leave," Asrun assured me. I looked at his dark eyes, down at my weapon, and then up at him again. I needed to get what I came here for and let's face it, there was no way that I'd be able to intimidate any information out of him. With a smooth flick of the wrist, I held my spear up to him in a horizontal position.

The wolf accepted it as if it was a delicate thing, took it inside, and leaned it against the wall. Inlo nodded in approval before walking in. I followed after. Though large, it was nothing extravagant like I expected. The cabin was of plain wood and stone, the furniture boring and wooden, no jewelry or fancy vases strewn about or anything.

"We lead simply," Asrun explained. "It is the Wolf's Way to live without many comforts and to take only what we need. My home is large, yes, but I welcome all the villagers inside for feasts and warmth. Would you like to eat?" I looked to him and then to Inlo, my mind ringing with the question: what do wolves eat, anyways?

"I will go get us some food," the Alpha rumbled as he made his way past me and towards what I presumed to be the kitchen. "Inlo, take her to the dining room." The younger wolf obliged and led me in the opposite direction of our host. I stared at the furniture and empty space as I passed them. The furniture was bigger than the ones that I was used to and the ceiling stretched high enough to fit a badger comfortably too.

We only stopped when we reached a truly massive room. It would have easily seated ten badgers. In the middle of the room was a long table, chairs neatly arranged around it as if company was long-expected. Inlo casually sat down near the end of the table while I seated myself across from him. The pup grinned at me, merging back to his painfully casual self. Darn. He was handling himself so well too.

"This is where our feasts take place," he smiled, unintentionally displaying his menacing fangs. He turned a little and jabbed a thumb behind himself. "That's a door that opens outside for more space for feasts and celebrations."

"I guess this is the place to have a party," I replied with a shrug. Honestly, as awed as I was in there, I was getting bored of the room. I was about to ask what kinds of feasts they had when Inlo's ears started perking up. I strained my ears as well and then I heard the heavy, approaching pawsteps. Asrun soon appeared and laid out a wooden tray between Inlo and I.

"You otters enjoy fish, yes?" In truth, my mouth watered at the mere scent of the roasted fish and rolls of bread. However, I simply nodded to hide my enthusiasm. If the Alpha wouldn't show emotion, neither would I.

"Please eat." The large wolf took a seat at the head of the table. Inlo began to collect the dishes from the tray and I started to do the same while trying to stifle my empty stomach.

"So what brings you to our village, Miria Wildshore?" Asrun asked, placing his elbows on the table so that his knuckles could support his chin. I met his eyes and I answered as simply as simple could be.

"I want to know what happened to Brink Rufeshodd."

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**A/N: Oy! Miria here, fillin' in for Jade while she's cooking dinner for her needy roommates. She told me to answer the questions and comments and beg for reviews and blahdy-blah. **

**Guest reviewer posted that he... or she... dunno or care, thinks it would be cooler to have a girl Taggerung. Hah! Girl, Asch... basically the same thing, so what are you complaining about?  
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**Another reviewer mentioned that he- you know, I'll just call you all 'it's - wasn't a fan o' all the cursing. Jade's probably sap enough t' apologize and make excuses about 'being in character' and phooey, but she ain't gonna change a thing. Trust me, you should cover those ears of yours 'round me and Red. Cursing won't get much worse than what you've read so far, though.  
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**If you have any _intelligent_ thoughts or criticisms, lemme know with a review. Otherwise, good o' you to read and exercise those teeny brain muscles o' yours.  
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**If I haven't offended any of you, I'll probably see you in the next chapter next week.  
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	6. Legend's Origins

**Special thanks to those who reviewed since last week: Free Thought, ferretWARLORD, Lord Vrel, Saraa Luna, Airan's Enigma, and Quaver Ava.**

**Remember when I said that this story is a sequel to "The Chains that Bind Us?" I told you that you don't have to read it and that I'd take care of the explanations, right? Well today we switch gears and I go over a loose summary. Pay attention, because all of this ties in on Southsward.  
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**I've gotta say, this chapter was difficult to write, mainly because I didn't want to info-dump the rest of "Chains" on your lap. Also, I know that a lot of readers here have never read "Chains." As such, it was a challenge to cover the prequel in a way that you new readers could still understand (special thanks to Free Thought for helping me do that. :) ).  
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**If you have any questions about Brink or Greymorg by the end of the chapter, please let me know. Though, there are some details about the legend that I have intentionally left out just for the sake of mystery. :)  
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* * *

**Legend's Origin**  
Miria Wildshore

_"History is a symphony of echoes heard and unheard. It is a poem with events as verses."_ - Charles Angoff

* * *

Asrun's eyes popped in surprise before he replaced that look with curiosity.

"Brink?" Inlo echoed. "Brink Rufeshodd? The otter that brought the fall of Greymorg?"

"Is there any other?" I snapped. Honestly! Such an obvious thing to ask.

"Brink Rufeshodd?" the Alpha mused, placing the food in front of me. "Yes, I've met him before. Twenty-five seasons since we have last seen him."

"I know that you haven't seen him since," I explained with a half-filled mouth of food. It actually wasn't bad- not bad at all. "They say that after the Grey War, he stayed with you wolves before he disappeared. I don't know the specifics, but I do want to know what happened. And if you think you know where he is..." I swallowed and pursed my lips. "I'd like to know that too." Asrun gave me another regarding look before he nodded his massive head.

"You are family?"

I nearly choked on a fish bone. "What makes you think that?"

"You have his eyes," he explained, digging into his fish with larger utensils fit for a badger. "Eyes grey as a storm."

"_Lots_ of otters have grey eyes," I insisted.

A knowing smile appeared on his face. "Yes, but very few carry his bluntness or his warrior's look."

I put my silverware down and crossed my arms over my chest, matching his stare. "I don't suppose I should take that as a compliment."

"It is a compliment."

"As far as I'm concerned, my uncle is a no-good runaway," I scowled before reclaiming my utensils. My eyes never left the Alpha, though. It was spooky how he picked me out like that. I'm sure lots of beasts had asked about the legendary Brink Rufeshodd. I didn't hear much about him in the far-off lands, but in Seafoam Isle and the high seas, that beast was a hero. On top of that, that little disappearing act that he pulled made him some kind of mysterious figure fit for a legend of sorts.

The elder wolf's brows deepened. "You have come so far just to insult your uncle?"

I breathed in. Then out.

"He's the only family I got."

There was a seriousness in the air that consumed the entire room. Everything was still and silent except for Inlo who glanced back and forth between me and the Alpha.

Slowly, Asrun nodded in understanding. "What do you know of him?"

I tilted my head. There were so many versions to the legend- some far too ridiculous to be taken seriously. But I figured that whatever most of the stories had in common was most likely to be true. I began with what the badger told me.

"He was a sea otter who ran away from home and was captured by slavers. As an oarslave, he was chained to a snow fox called Keetch. Then out o' the blue, they escaped and they came to Salaman... Salamander..."

"Salamandastron." I gave Inlo a frustrated glance for correcting me before carrying on.

"Salamandastron. Right, he and that vermin were still chained together but the badgerlord smashed the chains. Brink lived at Redwall and nobody saw the vermin until he reappeared two seasons later. They say the snow fox was a seer who could speak with the Red Warrior. They also say that he called upon lightning to send the Greymorg fortress to a pile of rubble, slaying the the tyrants who ruled the North. Killed himself in the act too... the idiot."

I realize how crazy I sounded- saying that the power of one beast could topple buildings and splatter an army. Those parts were from the mouths of sea otters. That's what you get from listening to that lot. Their stories are just as ridiculous as their taste in tattoos.

My arm propped against the table and my cheek, I stared listlessly at the thin, white candle in the center of the table. I couldn't help but wonder if it was fire or a crumbling pillar that killed Keetch. My bet was on flames. 'Singed beyond recognition,' was how the survivors described the corpses.

"When I was small, a badgerlord came to our door," I recounted, twirling my fork with absent-minded ease. "I couldn't have been more than five seasons at that time. He came bearing a message for my mother... that her brother was a war hero and had long since disappeared. Yup... He didn't go much into the details except that he respected Brink, but stories travel in sails. Even in a little fishing village like mine, we got a few visitors who liked to spread wild tales. They say that while the snow fox was smashing castles, my uncle was slaying demons. Well...?"

I stopped toying with my fork and looked up at them. "Is it true? Did Brink really slay a monster single-pawed?"

"He did," answered the elder. "The Basilisk- a lizard from far away. The creature's scales were black as his heart and hard as the rocks that bore him. He was as large as twenty wolves and had a breath that withered trees. One scratch of its teeth would send beasts to rest with the spirits. Before that, beasts pray they die of blood loss before the poison enters their heart."

Twenty wolves... that was the size of the room we were sittin' in. It was a hard tale to swallow, but crazier things have happened before.

"Before Greymorg, we wolves lived in our packs," he continued. "We braved winters, foraged food, waged wars amongst ourselves... But Greymorg came with its armies and the Basilisk, gorging off the land and destroying the Wolf's Way. We fought with warrior spirit, but our bravery turned to defeat. For generations, we wolves starved and cowered..." He bared his fangs as he said this and I found myself edging away from him slightly; even Inlo looked tense.

"Dark times for wolves brings the howling winds," Asrun incited. "But that changed when the ruler of Greymorg, King Ragnar, waged war on Mossflower. That decision brought Brink to their doors twenty-five seasons ago."

"Save the rest." I raised my arm, the back of my paw facing the Alpha as I counted the facts on my claws. "I know that corsairs laid siege on the Greymorg vermin when half their forces were in Mossflower. I know that Brink and Keetch traveled to the North under some deranged prophecy. I know that both of them played 'spy' for the corsairs so that they could take down the stinkin' weasel Ragnar. I know that Keetch did something to destroy Greymorg. _And_ I know that Brink killed the vermin's Basilisk monster before the ruddy otter pulled a disappearin' act."

I curled the five extended claws into a fist. "Nobeast knows why he left. They say he went mad when the snow fox died. Ridiculous, being all buddy-buddy with vermin like that. Now all I want to know is where I'll find him."

"Well nobeast has found him in twenty-five seasons," Inlo piped. "Legend says he will show himself when he wish-"

I slammed a fist into the tabletop, bringing the furniture and plates clinking together in a rackety chime. "Stuff a cork in it already! My mother _died_ waiting on her brave, _heroic _older brother to come home. But guess where he was when everybeast needed him? Not there. So!" I took a breath of calming air, observing Asrun's smugly stoic expression before I continued. "What makes you so sure that he would even bother dragging himself back here?

"The thing is," I continued, "I'm going to find him. If he's alive, he's gonna wish he was dead by the time I'm done with him. If he's dead, well then I just wanna slap up the corpse a little."

"I see..." The elder closed his dark eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "A quest of blood and vengeance?"

I cocked my head to the side. "Less blood and more... choice words... and maybe a fist in 'is face or two."

Inlo opened his stupid mouth and managed a pathetic "Bu-" before Asrun cut him off.

"And for how long have you been on this foolish way?"

"Two precious seasons of my beautiful, wonderful, _fantastic_ life," I chuckled dryly. "And don't waste your breath, Alpha. Nothin' would stop me from this 'foolish quest,' as you put so poetically. That bein' said, if you don't know where he is, I want to know which direction he would've gone."

"Not until you tell me why you seek him," Asrun replied.

"I already told you. He's the last family I have. Besides," I shrugged, "it's not like I have anything better to do. And I... I just want to know why he never came back home... the lazy bum. Well?" I held my paws apart and twitched them upwards in an expectant gesture. "Your turn."

Asrun's stupid face remained indifferent as he replied. "The day Brink disappeared, we found his tracks leading South. You heard this from the stories, yes?"

I nodded, sipping from a cup. The clarity of the water was a real surprise; after drinking grog and stale water during my voyage asea, nothing in all the lands could beat this.

"Yeah," I cleared my throat. "Was there really a second set o' tracks?"

"That is truth." The wolf nodded, pushing the chair back. He had probably sensed that my interest in the conversation was slipping fast.

I did the same while Inlo mirrored our movements. "Do you know what kind of prints they were?"

"We wolves are skilled trackers," he rumbled, standing up to his full, towering height. It's funny. He was being so calm with my bossy tone that I'd forgotten how massive he was. "At a distance of twenty paces, I can tell weasel tracks apart from an otter's, but these tracks... they belonged to no creature I had ever seen."

I stood up too, inclining my neck to stare dead-on into his eyes. "Next you're gonna tell me that Brink waltzed into the horizon with his snow fox friend?"

"Spirits do not leave tracks," he replied simply.

"Right," I sighed. "Because everybeast knows that because _everybeast_ believes in spirits." I arranged my silverware back on my plate before giving him the slightest bow of my head.

"Thank you for the meal and your hospitality," I said, pushing my chair in. I don't like being polite or anything, but Inlo already made it clear that they didn't accept coins. Well, the least I could do in payment would be these meaningless words.

"It was an honor," said the elder. He turned and I followed him as he led me to the door and my spear.

"What do you intend to do now, traveler?" he questioned.

I spied the frost that crusted at the bottom of the door and pulled my hood over my head. The temperature was mild enough in the day but freezing on a cloudless night like this. "If he went South, I guess I'll pay Redwall a visit."

"It is a quiet and peaceful place full of innocent creatures... I doubt you'll like it there." The Alpha tugged the door open to reveal an eerily silent world that glistened with frost and dustings of snow.

"Well well," I chuckled mirthlessly. "You actually have a sense of humor."

"Not humor, but truth," Asrun replied, stepping back to clear a path for me. "Your nature seems like a restless one."

"Sure is." I pulled my traveler's cloak tighter against my body as I stepped into the cold, Inlo sticking to me like an annoying, talking shadow.

"Oh by the way..." I turned on my heel to face the wolf chieftain. "This might sound odd, but I was told to find the beast kissed by the sun... that if I find this beast, I would find Brink too. Do you know anything of it?"

"A beast kissed by the sun?" Asrun echoed. His brows knit together as Inlo cast me another classic, clueless look. "Where do you hear such things?"

"Fortuneteller," I lied.

"Of what nature?"

"An old rabbitwife," I shrugged. "Missin' an eye, if that makes her sound more like a looney mystic."

Inlo's ears sprang upright while Asrun's eyes sparked with a rare sorta interest. "And what manner of telling did she use?" asked the Alpha. "Did she read the innards of a live fish? Or the bones of a wildbird?"

"Eck!" My snout wrinkled at the thought. These wolves sure were serious 'bout their spirit nonsense. "Why would- who would- gah! Just dreams! She got these all from _dreams_!" Lies upon lies upon lies. But Asrun seemed to be taking it in, tilting his head this way and that as if the words had to tumble around in his brain.

"Kissed by the sun," came his slow reply. "I do not even understand the meaning of this riddle."

"Not even some kind of 'spirit' sorta mumbo-jumbo gobbley-gook?"

The elder closed his eyes and breathed deeply, as if it took physical effort to ignore what I just said. "I cannot help you further your quest, but ask the healer-wolf tomorrow. I wish you well on your journey," the Alpha said softly as he handed a lantern to Inlo. In his large paws, the piece of scrap metal looked like a plaything.

"Much thanks, Asrun-khan," the pup said with a humble bow of his head.

The Alpha didn't say any more and closed the door behind him. There was something to be said about his lack of words. He didn't waste 'em is what I mean. With Inlo as my guide, that was a character trait I'd quickly grow to miss.

"May I ask a question?"

"No."

"Why do you think badly of your kin?" he pried. "He is a hero. A great warrior who slew the Basilisk and saved many beasts."

I grit my teeth against the cold, still air. "'Thinking badly' is not what I would call it," I corrected him. "_Hate_ is the right word for it. He abandoned his family when he went out playing warrior. Never mind that he nearly gave my grandparents a heart attack with his immature runaway scheme, but that he never bothered t'come back. Some hero he was, not being where he was needed most. And besides, there are no heroes in this world. Just strong beasts that found it in their best interest to kill something."

"But he risked his life fighting," was the mutt's stubborn reply.

"Yeah, but I'll tell you another thing about these heroes of yours," I said. "They enjoy the thrill of nearly dying. Why else do you think they hang around their cronies, drinking to their heart's content and bragging about what they've lived through? And if they save another beast, well, they love feeling like they're in power- like the lives of everybeast depends solely on them. That's why they fight."

He was quiet for a relieving moment, letting my words stew around in that thick skull of his before he finally said "Then why do you fight?"

"To stay alive," I said, instinctively tightening my hold on my spear. "At the core of it, that's the only reason why a beast picks up a weapon."

"Where did you learn to fight?"

"None of your business."

"Did you learn combat when you were all alone?"

I stopped in my tracks and threw him a look that would've wilted a flower.

Inlo only gave me an apologetic, sympathy-laden look. "If you said Brink was the last of your blood, then something bad must have happened."

"Not as bad as what I'm gonna do to him when I find his sorry hide," I declared, stamping my spear into the frozen earth. "And speaking of bad things, I want you to show me the ruins of Greymorg... Well, what's left of it anyways."

"You have seen it." The pup spread his arms over the expanse of stone homes and cobble-spattered paths. "The castle that had caused misery is found in every brick and every grave marker in our town."

"What?" My jaw dropped so low, I thought it would've smashed into the ground. "How could you do that? Now each and every one of you lives with the symbol of evil."

"The stone is sturdy," he replied. "Nights are cold and there were so many chain-beasts depending on us for food and shelter. Asrun-khan would rather use Greymorg to build homes than let beasts freeze to their deaths."

It made sense, I guess. Nobeast was goin' to use that stone anyways. With all the bricks it took to build those houses, the fort would've maybe covered a hundred acres, a portcullis for each wall- maybe even a moat too. Add the stone walls and streets in this town, and it probably had three stories, its parapets decorated with severed heads on pikes. And considerin' the grave markers, I imagined an additional floor to add to this colossal structure. It sounded right. It would take a building that big to fit the Basilisk, an army, _and_ those chain-beasts. Speaking of which...

"What are chain-beasts, anyways?" I asked, carrying on with the pace. "And what's with this 'khan' thing I keep hearing?"

"Chain-beasts are what you might call slaves," Inlo explained. "And 'khan' is what we call a leader. Same as when the Redwallers call their leader 'Mother Abbess' instead of her name... Or sometimes they call her 'Mother Jolin.' She is not their mother by blood, but I understand that it is a form of respect."

"Mother Jolin, huh? I'll have to remember that for my visit over there." Inlo pulled ahead of me and led me twenty paces up to the inn.

"Be thankful that you have a guide in this town," he said proudly. "At such a cold night, it is important that you have somebeast to show you the way."

"_I _was the one leading us up 'til now, runt." I didn't know why I even bothered with him. I had half the mind to whack him with my spear but thought better of it. I was far too tired to deal with his whining and I just wanted to fall into the mattress and cuddle into the blankets.

* * *

By the time I reached my room, I felt like I could sleep for three whole days. And judging from the view of the window, the entire town seemed to feel the same. Instead of the field of candle lights, all I spied were a smattering of bright windows here and there. Even Asrun's large home didn't have a single glow to it. All was quiet and peaceful in this sleepy, freezing little town.

I quickly changed out of my brown travel cloak and into a comfortable orange tunic. I hadn't had a full decent night o' sleep in ages. I quickly threw my satchel under my pillow and propped my spear beside the nightstand.

I wondered what it was like before and during the war. From the stories, the spring flowers that came after the war were the brightest, deepest of red... some tripe about the plants drinking from the blood-soaked soil. Well, now you could hardly guess that there was any great war or slavery or bloodshed. If anything, the Basilisk had been brought down a few pegs- from a living nightmare to a little story that mothers told to scare naughty children.

It was also Keetch's home once... A long, long time ago. It was his birthplace and grave at the same time. They say that ghosts are stronger and mouthier around their graves, so I thought I'd give talking a try.

"Hey Keetch," I whispered into the night. Silence.

I instantly felt foolish at the notion but I had a feeling that he was listening. Sailors liked to say that between this world and the Dark Forest was a misty veil and that sometimes, beasts' spirits got caught in it like a fly in a web. Sometimes they wanted to keep going towards the Dark Forest and other times, they had some unfinished business with the living.

But whenever they got stuck between the two worlds, they showed traces of themselves... ghosts and the like. Rattlin' chains and sputtering candles and all that. Sailors liked to say that every time y'looked into the mirror and thought you saw something, that was a ghost leaking into reality. Sometimes these specters were angry at their deaths or desperate because they'd lost something. And sometimes, beasts stayed simply because they could.

Keetch was a seer in the living world, speaking to Redwall's dead champion and whatnot. It would only make sense that if he could speak to the ghosts, he could speak as a ghost too.

All that looney talk and I secretly believed it. But after all that I'd seen, I'd be crazy not to.

"So here I am," I continued softly, curling onto my side. "I didn't expect Brink to be here twenty-five seasons after his war, but I thought we'd pick up his trail by now."

No response.

"Any more hints about this 'kissed by the sun' rubbish?"

_Still_ no reaction. Not even an itch in the ear. Big surprise there, that ruddy fox.

"Whatever!" I pulled my blanket over my snout as I shut my eyes. "Redwall it is, then. You'd better hope I find him fast."

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**A/N: Hey, it's me, Miria again. Look, it's not as if I actually _enjoy_having to talk to you after my chapter is done. It's just that Jade's worrying over something called a résumé... whatever that is. She says she's been spending too much time working on this story. Just to tell you how much her mind's been obsessing over it, she nearly signed off on an email to a professor as 'Jade.' Pfffffft.**

**So! Back to my job. Apparently I have to beg for reviews and stuff like that. So go ahead, cough 'em up. I won't be the one to read 'em, so whether you have mountains of compliments, constructive criticism, questions, whatever, go ahead and send them over.  
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**As for next week's update, it's still plowing ahead as scheduled.  
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**...  
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**What are you still doing here? It must be nice, having nothing better to do.  
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	7. Stepping Along

**Special thanks to those who reviewed since the last update: Free Thought, ferretWARLORD, Saraa Luna, Bum Tickley, and Quaver Ava.  
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**Thanks you guys! Your feedback means a lot to me. Even if I get constructive ones, it means that someone out there is listening. :)  
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**Keep an eye out for name-dropping in this chapter. ;)  
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**Stepping Along  
**Miria Wildshore

_"When people are lonely they stoop to any companionship." _- Lew Wallace

* * *

The sun seemed gentle as the Northland winds brought in the cooling brine of the sea. In the two days that I stayed there, that afternoon carried the fairest weather I'd experienced in the Northern village. After talking to every slack-jawed beast up and down the settlement, I had come up with nothing more than what Asrun already told me.

I stood at the center of the sleepy town, sipping the chilled, clear water that I drew from the well. Northern water... nothing like it. It even cast reflections that made even _me_ look good. After all the rough travelin' and weathering, I was surprised to see my mother's grey eyes peering back at me... but it was a hardened variation compared to her warm and gentle gaze. Even my face was like some cheap imitation. Don't get me wrong, I looked alright and all, but I couldn't hold a candle to my mother.

No. I was far too gruff and male-like. Sure, I had the unmistakable figure of a maid, but I lacked all the necessary graces. I had a firm and serious mouth similar to my father's, my stance was too much like my brother's, and the way I carried myself... well, that had too much of my mentor's swagger in it. Besides, in my orange tunic, broad belt, and heavy traveler's cloak, I sure wasn't trussed up like some daisy-brained, sunny-faced maiden.

I s'pose it's plain to say that most maids my age had at least two children gathered about her skirts. Not me, though. At my ripe age of twenty-four seasons, my paws were calloused from spear training instead of wrinkled from dishwashing, my clothing torn from snagging rocks instead of grubby-pawed brats, my eyes weary from staring down the distant horizon instead of staring down embroidery. I had no regrets.

I sensed somebeast looking at me and I turned to meet the stranger.

"May I drink, traveler?" It was just a squirrelwife all bundled up as if she expected a storm to come blustering in at any minute.

"Sure," I muttered, tilting the bucket to show her that it was filled. "It's your well."

"Thank you."

I ignored her thanks and wandered to a stone landmark that proudly stood guard at the very center of town. I leaned against it, watching as beasts lumbered past with their day-to-day routine. All in all, though, it wasn't so bad a place... save for the statues that towered above me: two of them were wolves set upon a pillar and the last, a life-sized image of a male sea otter that jabbed a sword to the sky. The facial features were generic and the statue could have been of any war-mongering lug... 'cept for that manacle on his left wrist. Unlike many of the 'chain-beasts', Brink physically carried his memories as an oarslave.

It seemed as though that creature was everywhere and nowhere. Like a lonely echo, only his legend and stories remained. Unlike my mother, nobody could really say what he was _really_ like or recall any of his childhood memories. Nobeast knew his mannerisms, his favorite food, his sadness, his favorite pastimes or stories, his life's dreams... The soul of the beast was gone, his presence boiled down to the stereotypical 'mysterious warrior.'

But then again, most of us leave this world with nothing to mark our existence. We live and we die, just like every other damn thing in this forsaken world. Sure, we might get married and have pups to remember us when we're gone, but our great-grandchildren wouldn't even give a snot 'bout us. But if we're _really_ lucky, our children would tell their grandchildren dusty stories of us... stories that begin with the words 'back in my day.'

Come to think of it... Even though my uncle's status as a legend made him seem less like a real creature, other beasts will talk about him long after he kicks the bucket. And when the stories are forgotten, at least the town could look up at the statue and wonder upon the elevated figure. It was more consideration than Keetch could ever hope for. Lonely bastard. Even after all his sacrificing, he didn't even have an inscription to his name, much less a statue.

"We carved these from a chunk of fallen wall," said a voice behind me. Try as I might, in the two days I'd stayed there, I couldn't shake that mangy Inlo off my trail.

"Lemme guess," I sighed. "Greymorg's wall?"

"Correct," he said with flair. I didn't see why he was so proud of the damn things. They were just statues somebeast slapped together ages ago. It's not as if Inlo was there to see the great battle, talk to Brink, or be _any_ actual use to me.

The runt was carrying a large backpack and held in his paws a smaller sack. I dismissed it, thinking that they were supplies for his shoddy little inn. I was done here and there was nothing left to see. As much as the wolves were new t'me, the village was the same as the next one. Boring, bland, pointless.

I shouldered my pack and turned to leave, but the annoying little whining runt barred my way again. "Where will you go?"

"Wherever I want," I snapped.

"I want you to take me."

His statement was clear as a bell but reflexes made me utter a soft "what?"

"I can pay, I can pay." He hurriedly jammed his free paw in his pocket and started fishing around, his face reflecting some impressive amount of effort. I only stood there, simple curiosity fixing me to the spot.

"Here." He held up a small drawstring bag; it looked like a toy in his paws. He shuffled over to me with all the confidence of a corsair walkin' the plank; he extended his offering in open palms, his head bowed low. I had to smirk at that. I was no Alpha and I certainly wasn't going to take this scraggy creature along.

I relaxed my spear, letting the weapon rest against the crook of my arm as I poured the contents of the bag into my paw. I quickly counted 19 copper pieces, all of them in varied conditions of wear and luster. Some were actually pretty banged up with freakishly large fang marks. I picked up the worst one, a dull coin bent in a near-perfect L-shape.

With a straight face and flat tone, I gave him his first lesson of the real world. "You test _gold_ coins with your teeth..." I flung the coin at his forehead. "_Moron!_"

He yelped, taking two paces back as he rubbed the smarting spot on his face. I took my time to collect the currency back into the bag while he recuperated from his war wound.

"Besides, you wolves don't take coins? Remember?" I tossed the purse back to him but it only bounced off his knee and jingled onto the floor in a sad heap. "Whatever happened to 'I don't take?'" The last three words were punctuated with a sloppy imitation of his father's low, moronic voice and the choppy accent. I placed my paws on my hips and let a corner of my mouth twist into a smirk. "What? Did you steal it or somethin'?"

"No," he replied indignantly. He thrust his arms at his sides as if it could make him look any less guilty. "By the Wolf's Way, never!"

"Yeah? Then how'd you get 'em?"

"The sailors gave them to me." He scooped up the purse and hunted around for that piece of coin I chucked. He was squatting on the ground, looking for the familiar glint of metal. I crossed my arms over my chest, allowing a cheek to rest on the spear shaft. I had no idea why I was wasting time with this.

"I would ask of their quests, their stories," Inlo continued. "They would sometimes give a coin to me as a gift. They said that a hard-working son that helped his father deserves payment." I saw his mood brighten as he reclaimed his missing treasure and starting buffing it with his furry arm. To be honest, all of those coins had seen better days. The sailors obviously just wanted to be rid of scrap metal. "They said that if I saved enough, I could pay to be on a ship."

I had to laugh at that.

"Is something amusing?"

"T'would take you _five Silvers_ to get you anywhere on the sea," I chuckled. "If these are your life savings, forget about it!"

"But I don't want to go to sea." Inlo extended the payment to me again, an adamant frown crinkling above his eyes. The first thought in my mind was that the frown didn't belong there. It didn't look natural to him at all. It looked rather ugly, actually, but it did the trick of making me listen a bit more carefully. "I want to go with you. These coins are for payment as a bodyguard."

My fur bristled at the notion. "Hey! I don't come cheap!"

"I have food and supplies," he added quickly. With his right paw, he swung the smaller backpack towards me but it never left his grip. My eyes traced over his face, then at the coins, then at the backpack.

"What's in there?"

"Five days of rations for you and for me, blankets, flint, and an oil lamp, Miss Miria," he recounted.

"I can get my own supplies m'self," I huffed. The wolf gave me a pleading sort of look and I thought to myself that I finally got him... except he was a bit smarter than I thought.

"The beasts here will not take your coins," he said slowly. "They will give you _charity_."

"Then let 'em. Go home to your parents, runt."

"Miss Miria, what I offer you is fair payment." He bowed his head again. "I will go where you go and do only as you wish. I only ask that you take me on your journey."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"So... You want to pay me..." I paused to make sure the math sounded right. "...So that you can be my servant?"

His answer was a solid "correct." I was practically stealing crutches from a cripple at this point! I snorted to hide the laughter building up in my lungs.  
I imagined myself waltzing into every inn and demanding the best rooms while this hulking beast stood behind me, cracking his knuckles for good ol' intimidation. And for every low whistle I got from sailors, I'd send him in to smash their teeth. Perfect!

"Well wha' 'bout the inn and your father?" As fun as these ideas were, I had to consider the runt's family. He was a nuisance, sure, but there was no doubt he would be missed. I'd rather save his family (and myself) the grief. His eyes only brightened at that question as if he'd already won.

"My father already gave me his blessing. My mother and sisters helped me pack," he beamed, hideous fangs and all.

"Whoa, whoa. _What?!_ Sisters?" After how this stone-for-brains turned out, I would've thought that his parents would'a given up at raising kids. He looked dumb-founded by my disbelief.

"I didn't know you had sisters," I rephrased, calming my tone down.

Inlo blinked at me, an ear cocking sideways in a ridiculous manner. "You never asked."

"I'm asking now."

"I have three older sisters..." His sentence trailed off in the end, almost sounding like a question in itself. No doubt that he was wondering why in blazes this was relevant. Well, that explained why he was such a little whiner. Growing up and being shoved around by a bunch of girls, it's no wonder how he ended up this way.

I gave my new servant a little bit of thought. His arms were getting tired from holding out his 'payment.' I took them from him and he let his paws flop to his sides. Not once did I break my gaze on his eyes; I had to ask a serious question.

"But why pick me? After all I've heard, the Redwallers would gladly escort you to their Abbey. Heck, a harmless dolt like you, even the Long Patrol might do it... whenever they come around and all."

He didn't take any offense to that last part. He only shrugged his massive shoulders. "As with you, I wish to find Brink Rufeshodd," he explained. "I wish to find your omen, the one of the beast kissed by the sun. I wish to see Redwall with my own eyes... To find my own way in the world. I wish to weave my own stories and tell them to the sons of my sons and the daughters of my daughters."

_Huh, _I thought._ He actually thinks that some barbarian maiden was gonna fall for_ _him.__ At least one of us is optimistic._

"I'll only take you as far as Redwall, y'know," I said with severity. He nodded so quickly that his head was a blur. Then I added, as a final thought, "Don't you... want to say good-bye to your family?"

"No." I gave him an alarmed glance that prompted him to explain himself. "Farewells are of ill luck. It's the Wolf's Way to only give farewells to the ailing or those not going to return."

"What sense is that?"

"My kin know that I will return in good health. To say farewell means that there is reason for worry. This journey should not take long."

Ha! '_This journey shouldn't take long?_' Those were the famous last words muttered out of mouths before they were offed.

"But did ya tell them where you were going? And who with?"

"Yes," he answered stiffly. "Wolves must always let their elders know these matters. If my kin approve, they give me their blessing."

Well, crazy as it sounded, his line o' logic sorta made sense in its own twisted way. Why waste time with a teary-eyed good-bye party if they were going to see his ugly mug in a short while anyways? Unlike wolves, I guess average beasts loved to make everything dramatic. My mother used to bludgeon Marko and I with a cooking spoon whenever we raced outside without saying good-bye.

"Alright, alright," I sighed. 'Ironic' was the word for my predicament. Of all things, I was ending up like Kilmar. If there was such a thing as Fate, it had one hell of a sense o' humor.

I looked down in frustration and pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and foreclaw. "Fine, you can come. But first- we've got to set some rules." The wolf stood straight as a board, ready to take in whatever hellish demands I was about to set for him.

"First off," I announced, "No questions 'bout me. You mind your own business and I mind mine, got it?" He shook his head up and down so hard that I thought his head was gonna fall off. "Secondly, night watch is split evenly between us. Third, if we run into strangers, I do all the talking. And last but not least, if there is any fighting, you hide somewhere and let me deal with it, got it?"

"Where did you get the skill to fight?"

"HEY!" He winced at my voice and collapsed his ears against his skull. I struck the dirt ground with the butt of my spear a couple times for th' point of intimidation. "What was the first rule again?"

"No questions," he whimpered.

"Riiiight. So, we got a deal or not?"

"Yes, yes!" His face and ears perked up again with that same annoying enthusiasm. "I swear by the Wolf's Way that I will uphold to these rules so long as you accept me as your traveling companion."

Well that was good enough for me.

I breathed a contemptuous "huh," shouldered my pack, and turned to leave. Inlo paused a bit, as if there was some great chasm between us. Cripes, after all of that whining and pleading, he suddenly looked like he didn't want to go. But by the time I had left the square, he was bounding right up next to me, practically panting and prancing around with glee.

"I'm gonna drop by the inn first," I announced. "Gotta check with your folks t'make sure I'm not kidnapping your or anything." I breathed in deeply, sending a silent prayer for the patience I needed to endure him.

Well, a bag of supplies and an extra set of paws would probably take me a little closer to finding what I came for. I broke one of my chief rules and gave a backwards glance at the sleepy town square and it seemed to me (probably a trick of the light) that Brink's statue was watching me with gleaming eyes and a challenging smile.

* * *

**Inlo has joined the party!**

**Miria: Shut up. I only let the runt join me because I was bored.  
**

**And if you're wonderin', I don't like to do these stupid Author Notes. Jade just happens to be too lazy to do her part. Y'know what? That's it! She doesn't even pay me enough to talk to the likes of you. If she needs narrators so badly, she ought'a run to that talky little ferret o' hers. He's alive, ain't he? If he's got functioning lungs, he can talk.  
**

**Or even better, where in Hell's Gates is our _third_ beast? Leave it to some prissy 'fledgling lord' to take his time. What's he been doin' these past five chapters? Huh! Pro'ly tryin' to straighten out a crown on that lumpy head of his.  
**

**You know what? I don't give a rat's tail if this story goes down the muck-hole. I'm taking a break and if Jade has somethin' to say about that then she can just jump into a river.  
**

**Yeah, you can go and tell her that!  
**

***slams door*  
**

**Jade: ... Um... Yeeeeeeaaah... That was awkward. Ahem! Don't worry guys. I'll have one of the two narrators lined up for the next chapter. :)  
**


	8. Prelude Gate

**A/N: Special thanks to those who reviewed since last week: Free Thought (always first to review :) ), Saraa Luna (who also loves to play with the vermin/woodlander lines), Quavera Tava (who I bounce ideas off of), and Airan's Enigma (an old friend of the past).  
**

**This week, we go for a change of pace and make sure that our special little Taggerung still has a pulse. And let's not forget that a lot of you wanted to see more Birger-Asch, father-son interactions. Well, here you go. :)**

**The third narrative is due for next week, but I assure you that he's taken a while for a reason. ;)**

* * *

**Prelude Gate  
**Asch Waycaster

_The point of 'no return.' That gate came early in my seasons. To think... my one little life had fragmented into a thousand different paths. I could've been a king, a pauper, a deadbeast... It's hard to think that one event, once choice, would lead me down the path I took.  
_

* * *

Pain seared at me, etching itself along my shoulders and down my back. Voices penetrated the dark, frantically calling my name. The sounds seemed so far away, echoin' into nothingness. All that I knew was the fire coursing through my blood and the effort it took t' breathe the heavy air. In. Out. In. Out.

In... Out...

... In... I didn't think I would take that simple task for granted.

Such slow breaths for my racing heart. I could feel the pound of every pump in the base of my ears. If you leaned against my chest, it would have sounded like a parade caught in a stampede. Separated from memory, from thought, from time itself, I seemed to drift off into oblivion. On rare occasions, the glarin' sunlight would penetrate my eyelids, summoning me back to some dim consciousness just for a split second; it was only long enough for me to realize that I was still alive before I released myself back into my isolated, agonizing little world.

I remember the smell of medicine. I 'member waking to an explosion of shouts and commands. "Get the knife!" "Hold him still!" "Don't slip this up!" "General Dirk's orders!" "I need that water _now_." Like some sleepwalker drunkenly playing out the habits of his daily life, I willed my limbs to follow the orders. Only, I couldn't move. Beasts ran to and fro as I tried to gather my wits. I was lying face-down, my arms and legs immobilized. My breathing was ragged and my mouth dry as a bone. I remember lapping into the air as water petered down from above me head. Thirsty. Oh, I was so thirsty.

Darkness guided me back to the furthest recesses of my subconsciousness, out of the pain and confusion and into the place where all the corrupt thoughts reside. You know the whispers that torture your mind, keepin' you from falling asleep? You know their origins? It's that deep, forbidding place in the bottom of yer heart.

That's where I saw him.

Another ferret stood above me, the skies overcast and the oceanspray in the salty breeze. He was a savage-lookin' beast, dressed only in a bark-skin kilt. A black stripe ran down the center to his face and ended at his nose. Alternating red dots flanked the ugly mark, giving his features a crooked look and adding more to 'is ugliness. Those were not the kinds of Juska markings I'd heard of.

He spread his arms wide, his palms facing up as he shook his head in mock wonder. "Tagg, matey," he smiled with yellowed canines. "What'd I tell yer 'bout fightin'? Y'can't fight fer anybeast but y'self! A beast tha' can't fend fer hisself is a deadbeast anyways. Might as well let'em die."

He frowned down at me as I lay there, tiltin' his head as if focusing on some silent response. "That kind o' thinkin'll get ya killed one o' these days, son." I stayed silent, watching the vermin as he took a step back. The skies caved in somewhere, the black shadows engulfing it as the ferret began to melt into the darkness. The entire scene seemed to jilt to the side and I had the sensation of falling but all I could do was watch. My body wouldn't let me do anythin' else.

"Asch." A gentle, familiar voice rang like a bell. "Asch." I opened my eyes and saw Birger's face hovering above me- a welcome sight compared to that other creature. I opened my mouth to greet him but all that came out was a wheeze. I coughed, my lungs tumbling around in my ribs. Birger acted quickly, liftin' my head so that he could hold a cup of water to my lips.

"Took quite a beatin', ya did," he soothed, inclining the mug as I drank deep. "But you're back in Fort Riddian's infirmaries. It's all smooth sailin' and good ol' civilization now. We'll patch you up real good and you'll be out in a couple o' days." He removed the empty cup from my mouth and gently picked up the collar of my shirt to dab the stray droplets off my muzzle. The pain had subsided to a dull ache radiating from my back. Not perfect, but boy was it an improvement.

With th' pain only an ebb, I was able to take in my surroundings. I was nestled in a warm bed, my body drenched in sweat and covered in bandages. The window showed me a clear and cheerful sky, different from the one I saw in my dream. The nightstand to my right was cluttered with jars, herbs, cups, and a wide variety of frightening surgical tools dipped in a basin of bloodied water.

"What happened? How long was I out?" I croaked. Birger could only sigh as he guided my head back to the center of a soft pillow.

"You were out for five days. Scorpion sting got ya in the back. T'was a wee baby one, but they have the venom of an adult, those." The otter's brows knit together in thought and worry. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. "Y'should 'ave died in that desert, Asch. Don't know how you survived it, but thank the heavens ya did. Cripes! The heart attack y'nearly gave your mother!"

"What was it doing..." I paused for a slow breath, "...out there?"

He shrugged. "Scorpions don't usually come this close to the city. They like t'stick to the quiet places."

"But-" I tried to pull my elbow under me so that I could sit up. "But where are the others? Red? Fidchell? Barlow? Where're they?" They would've been waiting at my bedside. Panic seized at my heart for a good second before Birger _tsk_ed me and pushed my shoulders flat against th' bed.

"Easy! They're alright, lad!" he scolded. "General Dirk issued them back out t' the desert to inspect the scorpion site. Just left yesterday. Sheesh, they kept visitin' you so often that I had t' chase 'em out."

Birger and I chuckled at that. Fidchell probably passed by briefly, seeing no point in spendin' time with an unconscious beast. Red and Barlow, however, would've enjoyed sitting in a quiet game o' cards while they awaited my return.

"And ye missed the gaggle o' well-wishers a few days ago. I had t'beat 'em back with a broom," he continued. He reached over to the nightstand and held a roll of bread in the air in front of me. I forgot about my pain and my friends in almost an instant.

"Five days without food an' you're probably starving," sighed the ol' riverdog, placing the fluffy, paw-sized mass into my palm. I was always taught to eat with table manners, but the first bite made my mouth water and the second awakened my hunger. By the third and fourth, I was practically choking it down. My chest tightened and it was difficult to breathe, but that plain little piece of bread was _so good_.

"Chew your food," Birger chided. "I didn't raise no savage!" I groaned as he stacked a wall of pillows behind me, propping me up into a sitting position so that I could eat and drink on my own. He gave me another large cup of water and waited until the food in my throat went down before he gave me my second roll of bread.

"Now I want you to eat _slowly_," he enunciated. "Wouldn't be funny if we saved ya only to for you t'have death by bread!" But I'm tellin' ya, pacing myself was _definitely_ harder than killing a scorpion. I don't remember being so hungry in my whole entire life.

And to make it all the more cruel, Birger cut me off at my fourth roll of bread. T'was a new form of torture!

"I don't wanna overfeed ya," he told me.

"Aaaaw, c'mon, Birger. I'm not some overweight tyke or nothin'."

"Might be hard on your body t' start digestin' food after all this time," the otter explained. "And y'can just sit back and rest a bit with a good book or somethin'. Here." He pulled some kind of tome from underneath the tray of poor, uneaten food.

"Your Uncle Pickner dropped by and said this would pass th' recovery time." It was so thick, I thought he was having trouble picking it up with one paw. I grabbed at it eagerly and thumbed through the pages and illustrations, letting the smell of inky paper waft in the air.

"This is a rare print!" I exclaimed. "The complete anthology of Avalon's works!" He might seem like a stuffy old mouse to everybeast else, but Uncle Pickner must've been some kinda saint. He knew how much I'd been tryin' to get my paws on a copy.

"Don't know why you read that stuff," the otter huffed beside me. "I tried reading it m'self and it nearly bored me t'tears!" I exhaled slowly and closed the book. I couldn't read it now anyways. It would've been rude to ignore Birger.

"And Venna was here less than an hour ago. Dropped by with some flowers," he said, nodding toward the night stand on my left and at the vase of yellow daffodils.

Now don't get any weird ideas about me an' Venna. Sure we're the same age an' all, but I'm a ferret and she's a vixen. I still remember showing her the huge insides of Fort Riddian, the Sword headquarters, and explaining our purpose with pride. Compared to her crude Juska origins, it must've been overwhelming.

But that was seasons ago and she didn't need me to lend her confidence anymore. I shifted in the itchy fabric of bandages that practically strangled my chest and shoulders. For all I knew, she might've been the one to bandage me up.

Birger interrupted my thoughts right then, fussing with me as he laid th' back of his paw against my forehead. "Fever's cooled a little." I wanted to tell him that he didn't have to watch over me. I wanted to tell him that I wasn't a cub anymore, but it would've driven him mad if he couldn't do something useful.

You see, when I was a baby I was always too small and sickly. And when I was a kid, I was out of danger but I got ill every month or so. Bunch o' fevers, stomach aches, and night sweats mostly. Nothing serious. Most beasts would simply send their cubs to bed with a belly full of warm soup, but _my_ parents had lost three infants and they wouldn't take no chances. They would always rush me to Sword's infirmaries and sit vigil at my bedside the entire time. Ma's frantic questions would put healers and herbalists at their wit's end.

"Rest, son." He retracted his paw and I closed my eyes. I'd been asleep for five days and I _still_ needed rest. I had never felt this crummy before. I let him unstack the pillows and recline me into a flat position. I grit my teeth as I moved my shoulder. It still hurt a bit, but Birger didn't need to know.

"You were the one who woke me up in the first place," I pointed out weakly.

The otter snorted at that. "Well you were the one making such a fuss. Some kinda nightmare it must'a been." He looked away and out to the window. "You're Ma's just left for some o' your favorite blankets and things. Maybe some vittles too."

I licked my still-cracked lips. "Could she come with a bowl of shrimp'n'hotroot soup?"

"Maybe when y'get a little better." He pulled the edge of the blanket up to my chin. "Now rest. That's an order." He said that last bit in a tone that ruled arguments out of the question. T' be honest, I was more than eager to fall asleep anyways. Just a one-minute conversation had left me feeling as if I'd run a league.

I don't remember falling asleep, but I knew this nightmare that played out in my head.

The walls were afire wherever I looked. I remained trapped and unmoving, watching with horror at the shrinkin' space between me and the walls. The air carried the acrid tang of smoke and burning fur. Screaming, shadowy beasts were all around me, bellowin' into nothingness as I tried to look around. I tried to call for help. Nobody was coming. Nobody was coming.

_"When we are near to the dark, you will tell us 'bout the sun."_ I tried t' turn m'head towards the voice. It was a dry, raspy sort of sound, though the owner was chillingly calm in these fires.

_"Stolen warrior, thou hear truth!  
'Waken, 'waken!  
Raise thy blade!"_

I tried to summon my voice, to say something- but it was as if my tongue were made of lead. I knew this was a dream. Every ounce of my being knew it, but I couldn't fight it. In all the times I'd had this nightmare, I was never able to break out until this hellish scene was done with me. Flames slithered in the spaces and it felt as if my limbs were made of loose, heavy rope. Sweat poured out from my body.

_"Find thy truth!  
Dark clouds rumble,  
Seas shall roar!  
We will come and claim our prize!_  
_Kings shall fail and castles crumble!  
Find thy truth and war will rise!"  
_

The walls bulked in as if dented. Flames licked int' the air less than a tail's length from me. The plumes of smoke stung at my eyes and blurred my vision.

_"Chosen One! Chosen One!  
He who bears the mark of the Sun!"_

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe.

My eyes snapped open to the sight of Ma's face peering down at me. The damp cloth on my forehead sent water trickling down my neck and soaking into my pillow. My breathin' was surprisingly slow as I registered my memories again. The scorpion, the wriggling tail, Birger, the dreams...

"Water," I rasped. Birger appeared at my side, inclining my head as my mother held another cup of lukewarm water up to my lips. I drank in massive gulps, not caring if the liquid dribbled down my chin or not. It took three cups to quench m'self that time.

"Easy now," my mother whispered. Her eyes were all puffy from her worried tears. "You'll be alright, you'll be alright." It's funny, 'cause her last statement sounded more like self-reassurance than anything else.

"'Course I'm alright," I grinned. "Never better!" Well, that statement must've convinced her somewhat; in three blinks of an eye, she looked more like her normal, fiery self.

"Don't know what y'were doin' in the desert," the otterwife scowled, placing the emptied cup back on the nightstand. "Mission? More like a death trap!"

"Nobeast thought there were scorpions in those parts," Birger said in defense of General Dirk.

"Honestly now," she huffed, fluffing my pillows as I tried to fall asleep t' get away from their approaching argument. Unlike Birger, Ma was short and portly and all the more fierce for it. "He keeps stealin' poor Asch away. Don't think I haven't seen the scrapes and bruises! A delicate and gentle soul like 'im should be spending his time in libraries or boats. _Not_ some battle training."

Birger brushed a paw over his headfur and blew air between his teeth. "It can't be helped, Wayla. He's so much more capable than the others. The general says he's got boundless potential an' we could use his skills."

"Has anybeast ever bothered t' ask Asch what _he_ wants?"

"He hasn't complained about it."

She stamped her footpaw. "'Cause he knows it's pointless to reason with Dirk."

"Well if it's so pointless, why're we arguin' about this?"

I pressed my head further into the pillow and pulled my blanket over my head. This was an argument that I'd learned to stay out of.

"He gets sick all th' time and all _General_ Dirk does is beat 'im over the head with fists," Ma seethed. "Big bully, he is. He's not th' one that has t' take care o' the cuts or the bruises. He never sits by his bed and worries."

Birger raised his paws and flopped them to his side in a gesture of helplessness. "He's the one that makes sure that Asch gets seen by 'is best healers," he said gently.

Ma just shook her head and sat at the edge of my bed, completely ignorin' the fact that I was in the room for this awkward conversation. "Usin' my son as one of his pawns. When I see 'is face, I'm gonna... I'm gonna..." The rest faded into mutterin' and empty threats.

Birger put a paw on her shoulder and smiled at me. "Ah well now. Let's stop all this bad talkin'," he said with a disarming sigh. "S'alright. Asch's out o' danger and he'll be back to his normal self in no time t'all."

A voice cut through the room with the sentence, "That's good to hear."

Everybeast turned to the doorway to see the imposing figure at the door. The big sea otter was dressed in the Sword uniform: a simple, long-sleeved dark blue shirt with the Sword crest pinned over his heart. That day, he didn't have his sash and or cloak- no need t' keep wearin' that stuff if everybeast in the area already knew 'bout him and all. Besides, the shallow scars all over his face made his identity unmistakable.

Like instinct, Birger snapped upright and thrust his paw sharply to his forehead in salute. "General Dirk, sir."

The general smiled and waved 'is paw in easy, downward motions. "As you were, Captain Waycaster." Birger relaxed and let his paw drop while Dirk walked up to my bedside, his bodyguards trailing behind him like delayed shadows.

The two beasts were similarly dressed and, with the tall, handsome figure standing beside the grotesque, stocky beast, they looked like the images of opposing warped mirrors. Quite an odd pair they were, but they were the best bodyguards out there.

"Glad ta see you're up, laddie-buck!" exclaimed the tall, lanky hare. With his fearsome agility and insane boxing skills, Forsworth Havershamp was certainly a beast to be reckoned with. When I was a kid, he'd nearly beat me bloody during training. But he was always polite 'bout it, always picking me up and dusting me off 'afore knocking me flat on me back again. And at the end of every practice, he'd share some pasties or turnover with me. I didn't think anythin' of it until Birger told me that a hare parting with 'is vittles was near impossible.

"How's it goin', Forsy?" I smiled.

"He's seen better days, wot! Eh, Abon?" the hare chuckled and nudged his companion lightly.

"Aye," rumbled the hedgehog. Abon broke out in a cheerful smile only to have it dampened by his ruined face. As a tyke, I once asked 'im flat out what happened. He should'a cuffed me for that, but he simply told me that it was bashed in during King Gideon's War. To be honest, I'd rather say his face looked more like a deflated, browned orange than somethin' smashed but... either way, it wasn't pretty. "Thought you were a goner."

"I don't think I'm outta the woods yet, mate," I said with an exaggerated grimace. "Birger ain't givin' me no vittles and it's just plain torture! Just four rolls o' bread t' make up for the five days of _starvation_." Dirk and Abon chuckled while Forsy cupped a paw over his mouth in horror.

"The poor beast!" he exclaimed. "Captain Birger, this lad needs his tuck. He's been out in the desert chasing scallywag children and fending off doo-dads and now he's practically a flippin' skeleton! How else is he going to get out of bed, wot?"

"Oh quiet, you." Birger scowled and crossed his arms over his chest, though his amusement was hardly masked. "He was chokin' everything down his gullet too fast. If I didn't know any better, he was part hare."

"Corks! Look at you, Birger!" Forsy shot a bold paw forward and gave the otter's belly a sound pat. Birger swiped a fist at the hare's ears but Forsy dodged with a neat hop.

"Wot with all the weight you're gaining around your middle, I'd _hope_ you'd have enough food ta spare your bally son!" he jeered. Birger's face must've been a bright shade o' red and I bit my tongue t' keep from laughin'. The banter would've continued if General Dirk hadn't interrupted.

"Alright you two, enough." The commanding sea otter was hanging back the entire time, but now it was back to business again. Everybeast quieted down as he approached my bed-ridden form.

He loomed over me for a minute, studying my condition as I tried to sit up to throw him a salute as well.

"No need for that, son," he said. Ma gave an audible snort at that last word. I cringed and Birger gave her a warning look, but Dirk was already turning towards the otterwife. She was still sitting on my bed, her small arms crossed over her chest as she glowered in his direction.

He exhaled loudly and said in the smoothest voice, "I 'pologize about Asch, marm. I didn't know about the scorpion but I take full responsibility for it. Yer son's a hero, though. Saved four beasts out there... and probably spared many villagers from a walking nightmare. I'm proud o' him, as I'm sure you are too. Raised 'im well, ya did."

Otters aren't always known for eloquence or fancy stuff like that, but Dirk always had a way with words whenever he wanted 'em to mean somethin'.

"It'd better not happen again," she scowled.

"It won't," he promised with a nod. "But if you can excuse me, I'd like t'have a word with him while he's awake. Alone, if you don't mind." My mother made a move to protest but Birger beat her to it.

"Yes sir." Ma gave her husband a contemptuous glance, but Birger held his ground and motioned her up. Forsy and Abon strode out first and Birger was next, though he held the door for Ma as she trudged out. Right under the doorway, my mother paused as if to say something but thought better of it.

It has always been some unspoken truth between us: my parents might have raised me, but General Dirk _owned_ me.

With a slow and respectful nod, Birger closed the door behind him, leaving only Dirk and me. As soon as the door clicked shut, the general sighed and let his posture sag wearily. "Your mother's a tough'un," he groaned. "Anyways, how're you doin', lad? Feelin' better?"

"Lots," I replied. I propped my elbows against the bed as I tried to lever myself up to a sitting position. While most beasts would've pushed me back down, Dirk just watched as I finally unwound my restless muscles. The effort it took t' bend my knees were like snapping sheets of ice. I grit my teeth against the pain as I dragged myself up to a proper sitting position, every muscle of my body resistin' and stretchin' back into its usual self.

Dirk pulled up a chair and waited for me to get comfortable before he started talking again. "Quite a stunt y'pulled out there," he said simply. "Red was spoutin' some nonsense about you taking the scorpion head-on. Said something 'bout you taking a ride on its tail and being flung up to the sky. He'd never seen anythin' like it."

"I didn't do it all alone," I replied. I never thought that Red would try to give me all the credit. "The others put in a few arrows and jabbed it up quite a bit."

"Aye, but you were the one to hold it off and kill it. Didn't expect anything less from ya." My chest swelled with pride and the aches in my joints melted away.

"Thank you, sir." I saluted jerkily. It seemed that my arms were still trying to get back into the habit of things.

"No, I need to thank _you_," the general said brightly. "I need those beasts and you saved 'em for me. That, and now the villagers in those parts can rest easy thanks t'you."

"They are my brothers in arms," I beamed back. "I was only doin' my job. As a soldier of Sword, it is my sworn duty to protect and fight for my kingdom. But..." My smile faded as I remembered thrashing against my friends in the sand as they yanked that thing outta me. Birger said they were alright, but I just wanted t'be sure. "But why are they out in the desert? Is somethin' wrong?"

Dirk's face darkened slightly, though he was still smilin' away. "Naw, lad. They're alright. I've sent them back with some troops t' get the stinger and armor. Those things might actually turn up useful."

"But what was it doin' so close to the city?" The otter reached into his pocket and held something up to my face. It was a leaf-shaped shard of some sort and it was 'bout the size of half his paw. Judging from the way it curved, it was a piece of a shattered pot and, from the rough, sandy-looking texture, it was made from clay. The general turned his wrist so that I could see the other side of it. It had a reflective, polished sheen to it and carried an engraving: long, green, zigzagging lines etched deep into the crude little artifact.

"Do you know what these symbols these are?" His voice was hard and serious, all traces of a smile wiped out.

"I don't understand wh-"

"Do you," he said slowly, "know what these symbols are?" Another one of his tests.

"Juska markings, sir?" It was a wild guess. I mean, I've never been taught much about the vermin, and the Juska that we pick up are secluded from the rest of us anyways.

The otter nodded and slipped it back in his pocket. "Red found this in th' sand just before the scorpion attacked him." He stood up and started walking around the room, his paws clasped behind his back.

"Juskirr were a bad lot, killin' and plunderin' as they went. Y'wouldn't know, since you were just a tyke when this was all happenin'. Sword was not as powerful then, so it took us a while to get our troops ready to deal with 'em. But when we did, they just went up and went further North- probably to terrorize some other poor souls. Didn't see a wink o' 'em until those stinkin' nomads came trekkin' back down to Southsward four seasons ago."

"I remember that," I murmured.

"Bet you do. Your father insisted that you didn't come along." I remembered how Birger stood at the doorway and clasped his paws on my shoulders, saying all sorts of stuff about being strong for when he was away. He made everythin' sound so final, like he was never coming back. It was like havin' a rock at the pit o' my stomach.

"Anyways, Sword took out most o' the Juskirr. Some escaped and we traced 'em out to the deserts and well..." Dirk paused and looked down for a second before he picked up the one-way conversation. "... Let's just say that scorpions are a bit fond of decayin' bodies."

"I didn't see any bodies."

"The bodies were buried. They would stay pretty fresh that way and... Well, the scorpion must've picked up the scent." The image of those pincer-like fangs crunching up a shriveled skull came to mind and I shuddered. Well, after all they'd done in Southsward, it was simply justice.

"Anyways, 'nough with the doom and gloom," said the sea otter, his tone picking up slightly. He approached me, his pawsteps resounding heavily against the floorboards. He reached a paw out to my face and I jerked backwards. He looked shocked and slightly offended by my instinctive reaction. Trust me, after seasons of sparrin' with this beast, it was hard not to get a little jumpy 'round him.

"This is an infirmary, not an arena," he said sternly. "I'm ain't gonna hurt ya." He reached out a second time and I let him press the flat of his paw against my forehead; it felt icy to the touch.

"Hmmm... Fever's practically gone." He pulled back and shook his head with mild disbelief. "Got stung in the back, dragged across the desert, and you're still alive an' kickin'. You're full of surprises."

I had to chuckle at that. It was one thing for everybeast else to be surprised, but impressing General Dirk always gave me some kind of bright feeling. "Did ya expect anything less from me?"

A broad smile spread over his features. "Well, if you're _that_ confident about yourself, how 'bout a mission in seven days?"

_Seven days?!_

"But- but- but..." I sputtered.

"It's a secret assignment, too. Don't go waggin' your tongue 'bout it to anybeast, y'hear?" The severity in his voice snapped me out of shock.

"But I can't-"

He cut me off with a look like thunder. "No talkin' about this task o' yours. _Do you_ understand?"

I nodded dumbly and swallowed my words. His mood was like a summer storm, cheerful one minute and terrifying the next.

"Good lad." He ruffled my headfur and made for the door, all signs of tension melted away into a carefree sort of smile. "The fate of a young life rests in your paws now. So, you are to await further details of this task. Until then, focus on gettin' well."

"Gimme a moment here!" I protested, hating the way my voice sounded so shrill. "I just got stabbed and shot up with venom, was a whisker away from death, and you want me ready and on my footpaws in _seven__ days_?"

"That's the plan." He winked at me as he shut the door behind him. I sighed with disbelief and pulled the blanket over my snout. Seven days? I weighed that dull ache in my shoulder and calculated things. I could get better in seven days but I won't exactly be up to perfect fighting form. What was the general doing, sending me off like this? A real slave driver was what he was. And he was probably expectin' me to be up an' ready for sparrin' in three days, too. The day in the life o' the champion o' Sword really wasn't all that it was cracked up t'be.

Well... It was a living.

I didn't know it then, but that mission would spark a thousand happenings. The awakening of a hero, a tension between neighboring kingdoms, a blooming love for my country, an unexpected ally, an explosion of information I wasn't ready for... But before all of that messy stuff, I met _her_.

It all began with her.

* * *

**A/N: No Miria today folks. I tried to get her to speak for me but she started hucking rocks. :'(**

**She also wanted me to give you a message... Ahem! **

**"If you're reading this on the night of Valentine's Day, you not only have no life, but you're unloved."**

**... Happy Single's Awareness Day, everyone. :(**

**Anyways, longest. Chapter. So. Far. **

**It started with 4,500 words but I kept adding conversations and now it's become like this (5,600 words). I have already written out the next couple of chapters and they don't get anywhere past 4,000. No worries there. :)  
**

**So now what are your thoughts about the characters? Anything you have to say about your read on Asch's personality or his friends? Don't worry. You'll get to see his enemies/rivals soon enough. :)**

**Until next week!  
**

**~Jade TeaLeaf**


	9. The Fledgling Lord

**Special thanks to those who reviewed last week: Saraa Luna (who helped me write this chapter), Free Thought (who was also of great help and makes very amusing reviews), ferretWARLORD (a passionate reviewer), Quaver Ava (who writes very long reviews for me!), and Professor-Evans (the guest reviewer who made me laugh).**

**Thank you for your reviews. I appreciate them all and you guys are the reason why I wake up early in the weekends to check my email. :)**

**So now we (finally) meet our third and final narrator. :)**

* * *

**The Fledgeling Lord**

_The dark gray eyes were direct and disturbing, as if they cut through things, throwing the inconsequential out of the way._ - "Atlas Shrugged" by Ayn Rand

* * *

Twenty seasons old and riding onto my twenty-first, I was a young beast back then. Young and hot-headed and full of self-annointed wisdom.

Dressed in the full regalia of a noblebeast, I strode through the dim stone halls, nodding at the otterguards that lined the walls and stood watch over the entrance. I could hear the muted roar of beasts from beyond the thick bricks and the buzz of excitement that ebbed in the air. I waved a paw in a backwards motion, signalling my own personal bodyguards to fall back with the rest while I joined my family for the occasion.

I stepped out into the cool autumn daylight and the scene opened up in front of me. Next to Castle Floret and Fort Riddian, the stadium was the largest building in all of Southsward and creatures flocked to it en masse. Like bees in a hive, the beasts stumbled and bustled amongst their numbers, practically crawling over top each other in order to get to their destination.

My crimson cape billowed in the wind as I turned left and onto my family's private balcony. My parents were already seated and I greeted them as I walked past. I even took the time to give the guards an approving nod before I moved on to my own seat between my brother and sister. While the eldest son typically sat beside his parents, my younger brother made a habit of taking advantage of the vacant seat whenever I was late.

"Hey, you made it!" Gavin shouted above the roaring crowd. Every fiber of his being was as excitable and immature as the rest of the stadium. Of course, being only sixteen seasons, he was more than eager for his own tournament and a chance to "show his stuff." The gravity of the situation had clearly escaped the enthusiastic young lord-to-be.

"Of course I came," I replied with a simple turn of my wrist. I could not dream of missing a consequential event such as this.

Before I go on, I want to explain a few small matters. The first thing is that the customs for Southsward are different from the ones that you and Redwallers are accustomed to. As far as you have probably seen, the hares and badgers of Salamandastron are almost completely militaristic and the Redwallers are simplistic simpletons of old beliefs. But Southsward, _my_ kingdom, is a robust realm with markets, armies, garrisons, blacksmiths, farms, mines... everything and anything. That being said, we are bound to be different on more than one account.

I have heard multiple Redwallers and outsiders point a claw at our customs and claim them unjust. They asked me how I could have possibly let this happen to my sister. Let me tell you one thing- I love Corinne. I carry my brightest and fondest memories with her and I would lay down my life for her.

I still recall what she wore that day: an elegant, flowing gown as pink and rare as the Parman mountain flowers. Wide-eyed and inquisitive, she was so full of humoring charm and wonderment. She was young and she seemed to radiate with youth. It's as if... as if looking at a rosebud, you know that it is neither pretty nor ugly. No, not at first sight. But when you realize that it is just at the cusp of maturity, you come to realize a lovely, delicate beauty in its being.

I remember thinking to myself, _It is such a shame. None of her suitors are deserving of her._

"Are you sure you don't need me?" I asked her. The ottermaid only smiled and calmly shook her head- the exact opposite of her demeanor last month. She seemed like a frightened little bird then. This change only deepened my curiosity as I took my seat beside her. I sat straight and observed the open stadium before us, the seats and isles bustling with eager beasts while the competing suitors waved from the center of the arena.

I counted them. Seven otters from Southsward- all of them nobles and knights. Three from surrounding holts. And then there were two outsiders from our neighboring kingdoms- one from Triel and the other from Parma. Twelve suitors total, but where was the thirteenth?

"Do you want to tell me who he is?" I leaned a little towards her, though she only smiled and turned away. I could only sigh in frustration. You see, in Southsward, the daughters of nobles marry for neither love or passion, for those are for naive and selfish minds; instead, they marry for the wealth and prosperity for our country.

Is it not the nobles' duty to care for its beasts and kingdom? Are we not the pinnacle of the authority? The keepers of the peace? Who else would have the power and intellect to orchestrate the public agenda? Wouldn't it have been a waste if my sister had married a mere fisherbeast instead of a noble that could ensure safe trades?

Believe me when I say this: I _did not_ like the idea of my sister being tethered to some acquaintance for the rest of her life, but the needs of the many outweigh the wants of the few. And the life ahead of her would hold neither pain nor abuse. The life we wanted for her was one of luxury- hardly anything to complain about. So what if she did not "follow her heart's desire" or some fantasy? She would live a comfortable life without want. Though, at the tender age of fifteen seasons, I did not expect her to take a mature perspective.

However, at the very least, she could have followed my example and taken her duties in obedient stride. I was married at the age of eighteen, not much older than her age, and I had no complaints. A lord was expected to sire children and extend the family line, after all. The same was to be expected of a lady. Not to mention, it is also a noblebeast's duty to wed into a family that would benefit the realm.

For me, I had been set to marry Lady Ayda Crestworth since I was twelve. Thankfully, neither of us had any objections to the union and I was spared the ordeal of having to duel for her paw in marriage.

Listen here.

Due to your confused, glazed stare and your peasant upbringing, I believe that it would be easier on your mind if I explained properly. In Southsward, a father offers his daughter to an honorable family. If the maiden has no objections to her father's selection, the marriage goes as planned. However, if a noble maiden is unwilling to marry her father's choice then she can opt for a tournament.

In this tournament, eligible suitors gather to fight for her paw in marriage. After all, it is the most trustworthy method to test the strength of a bloodline. However, the maiden may also choose a beast to fight on her behalf. If her representative emerged victorious, the engagement would be delayed by a month. Each month, another tournament is held. But if her dear champion is defeated within five months, her marriage belongs to the new victor and _if_, by some stroke of divine luck, her champion wins all five tourneys then she is free to choose her own husband as she wishes.

Easier said than done, I assure you. Otter, squirrel, mouse, what have you, that has only happened twice in the entire history of Southsward. Any otter who was even remotely capable of winning all those tournaments was already a suitor fighting for Corinne's paw in marriage. So long as they were otters of relatively similar age, they were allowed to participate. Even if he was a beast of great skill, anybeast can be bribed or persuaded... or have some unforeseen 'accident' befall him.

Is that understood? Yes? Good.

As I was saying, that particular day marked Corinne's second month in tournaments. The first month was... Well, I won that thing by the skin of my teeth and let us just leave it at that.

Hmm, what's with that look? _NO_, I did not fight for her paw in marriage. _How disgusting!_

I was her champion, fighting to defend her interests. I will repeat myself again: most of the strongest and reputable otters were already squabbling over her. Why would any of them turn tail and fight for her freedom? And as family, I am supposed to watch after her. If anybeast wanted to force marriage upon her, he would have to go through me.

I managed to buy her some time, but just _barely_. But that month she had brought in a new champion. Who? I could not say. She refused to divulge that secret to anybeast- even my father.

I cast a glance in his direction. Lord Galen Swalestrom, Skipper of the Southsward Otterguard, was a large beast even for an otter. Though he held a lofty position as one of King Darrian's chief advisers, he was dressed in a simple red tunic while all the other lords wore extravagant robes and dresses of every blooming color of the rainbow. He looked stern and stressed, his eyes like flint and his mouth set in a thin line.

My mother, Lady Bellamy Swalestrom, was dressed in an evergreen gown inlaid with golden threadwork. Despite the regal and somewhat cheerful colors, she seemed to be in a more somber sort of mood. She and my sister were always very close, so to have Corinne leave our house to join another was bound to be painful. But just like myself, she knew that this was for the good of the kingdom. Traditions had to be kept, after all.

I turned my attention back to the stadium and observed just twelve otters. Her representative was supposed to be there by then and worry began to prick at my mind. Once again, I turned to my little sister. She seemed a bit restless, though she was trying her best to mask her anxiety. But instead of shrinking away from my skepticism, the ottermaid read my mind and beat me to a response before I had even begun to ask the question.

"He _will_ show up," she assured me with a frown. "He will definitely show up and he _definitely_ will not disappoint me." She crossed her arms at that as if that gesture would finalize everything.

I turned away. "I really do hope so."

"Galen Swalestrom! Good to see yer!"

I swung around to see another sea otter in our balcony. He was dressed in the distinguishing long-sleeved, dark blue Sword uniform. A frayed leather belt wound around his waist and an empty scabbard hung at his hip. Except for contestants and guards, weapons were forbidden in the stadium, though for some reasons of intimidation, Dirk Tillwaters still liked to show off his swordsmanship in some form or fashion. It was not as if it was hard to judge his history of wars, though. The scars on his face were clearly visible, denoting a life of fighting and violence.

His bodyguard was in a similar state. It was as if the hedgehog's skull had a massive dent in it, as if his face had never rebounded from impact. It was most likely a solemn reminder of King Gideon's War.

My father stood up, a paw poised for a pawshake. The other otter took it eagerly and shook with abundant enthusiasm. "What a day for a tournament, eh Gale?"

I simply watched as my father forced a smirk. "It is."

"Bells!" the general exclaimed, clapping my mother on the shoulders. She gave a little peal of laughter, though I saw my father's face sour. How typical of Dirk to forget his sense of propriety. But what else can you expect from a beast that lives amongst vermin? Childish, chatting with my parents as if he hadn't seen them in seasons. Like my father, Dirk was an adviser to the king and served as one of the Five Lords. That being said, he was always bound to run into my parents in the Council Meetings or around Castle Floret. There was absolutely no reason- no reason at all- for him to abandon proper behavior.

"Ah, and this must be the young bride t'be." He beamed at my sister and she stood up to do a small curtsy complete with a warm smile.

"Good day to you as well, Mister Tillwaters," she chirped.

"_General_ Tillwaters," my mother corrected gently.

"Aw hush, Bells!" Dirk put a paw over his heart as if she had wounded him. "No need fer formality for friends. Hell, she can call me _Uncle_ Dirk if she wants to!" I looked away in disgust while my sister insisted on propriety. I don't know what it was with that beast, but he gave me the chills. To Corinne, however, he was a dear family friend that had come to reminisce on the old times and talk of the weather. She was too innocent and naive to notice, but the air was charged with contagious tension.

"And Gavin Swalestrom!" The sea otter nodded down at my younger brother. "You look like you've been trainin', lad!"

"I have, sir," he replied in an almost shy manner. "I want to do well for my first tournament."

"Comin' soon, ain't it?"

"Yes sir!" the younger otter puffed out his chest. "Almost two seasons."

"I wouldn't want t'miss such a show," the general grinned. I felt as though his countenance was meant to be jubilant, but the way his scars curved with the corners of his mouth made it look more like a grimace than a smile.

Then he turned his attention to me. "And how're ya doin'? You're gonna be a father pretty soon, ain't yer? Well congratulations!"

I dragged the corners of my mouth into a tight smile. "Yes, we are expecting in a month or two. Unfortunately Lady Ayda cannot be here to accept your good wishes... for obvious reasons. I will let my wife know that she is in your thoughts." A generically courteous response, that. I pulled my attention back to the otters waiting in the center of the stadium. Their arms had grown tired from waving and even the audience's voice was growing hoarse.

"Well what'cha doin' in the seats, lad?" I looked up and saw that Dirk was _still_ standing beside my chair.

"All the warriors're lined up down there." The general pointed a webbed claw at the otters below. "I saw ya in that last tournament. You did your family proud in that ring! And boy, what a close match it was!"

I clenched my jaw. "I am not participating today," I informed him.

"Did y'hurt yourself or somethin'?"

"No."

"That's odd."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "It is, is it not?" I did not have to explain myself to this repugnant, glorified thief.

"Keetch." My father didn't have to say any more than my name; his sternness was enough of a message. I planted my palms against the arm-rests of my seat and pushed myself up to a standing position.

"Please accept my apologies, sir." I held up a paw for a shake. It never seemed right to me, apologizing for an act that I had no remorse over. It was as awful a crime as an empty promise.

"Think nothin' of it, lad." Dirk's vivacity disappeared as he accepted my paw. He wasn't as rambunctious as he was a mere moment ago. Do not think that I deflated his enthusiasm. He was looking down at me, giving me a regarding look: a smug half-smile on his face as if he knew something I did not. I would not be surprised if he did. The otter was filled with all sorts of secrets and underhanded dealings.

"Dirk, why don't ya join us?" my father asked. This seemed to please the general more than anything as he took his place beside my father, chatting up my parents like it was old times. For your information, they were old war heroes.

My father and Dirk were partners in the bounty-hunting business until they came to Southsward during King Gideon's War. I don't know why my father would have tolerated such a beast as company, but... time changes beasts, I suppose. Perhaps Dirk was something different back then... before he was robbing tax collections for his shady operations, kidnapping children, and dragging Sword's name through the mud.

Yes, Sword stands for the Southsward Order of Defense... an inaccurate acronym that...

Oh, but you already knew that, did you not? Very well. While I am eternally grateful to the beasts that serve and protect our kingdom from threats like Triel, Sword as an organization was hardly the reason for our time of peace. It was Lord Harmon and the other lords of Southsward that kept our kingdom from falling into war with our neighbors. It was they who negotiated with Triel and kept our countrybeasts from living through a repeat of King Gideon's horrendous war.

The brave and valiant Sword of the past was no more. For the past decade or two, the accomplishments of the organization had dwindled down to retrieving runaway children and dealing with a few skirmishes with petty, tribal vermin. And yet, they received a massive amount of our royal taxes. While General Dirk Tillwaters was out playing soldier with urchins, my father had the Otterguard to lead. Who else would defend our ports and uphold order within the capital? The streets were growing more and more unruly by the seasons and beasts were afraid to travel in some areas by night. Surely my father's forces deserved at least as much coin as the general's vanity projects.

"Keetch, Keetch!" Corinne grabbed my sleeve and pulled me back down to my seat. "There he is! There he is!" From our private balcony above the arena, we could take in the new arrival's every detail. I leaned forward in interest.

He did not seem to be anything out of the ordinary. He was an otter of medium height and, going by the way his clothes fit him, he had a lean but muscular build. He wore an cream-colored tunic, a leather belt around his middle, and he carried a short sword at his side. The whole arena hushed as they evaluated the bride's champion warrior.

My sister gave a little gasp, staring intently at this mysterious figure, looking him up and down and trying to find something extraordinary about him. I cast a glance at the opponents. All of them carried themselves with great confidence and held their weapons in a way that suggested experience. From the size of them, the newcomer was completely out of place. Instead of a valiant beast that entered with the intention to win, you would guess that this poor fool was a creature that had simply gotten lost.

But the mysterious otter stood his ground, seeming almost shy as he surveyed the crowd. His eyes stopped at our station, lingering on us before he gave a short but smooth bow in our direction. My sister returned with a trembling wave, forcing herself into a relaxed and reassuring smile. My mother didn't bother to hide her disappointment and my father kept a straight face, though a raised brow betrayed his interest. Even Gavin could not find anything encouraging to say.

Dirk, however, seemed completely at ease. But what could he possibly understand from the gravity of the situation? To have one's entire life resting on this one beast to go against twelve spelled failure.

A plump hedgehog cut his way through the arena, a shining brass horn clenched in his paw as he hurriedly approached the new beast. Anxious whispers followed as the hapless squire led the young warrior towards the center of the arena and near his opponents.

"Ladies and gentlebeasts," the hedgehog cried out, his high-pitched voice straining against the diminishing chatter. "The tournament for Lady Corinne's paw in marriage is ready _to begin_!" He said the last two words with flourish, slightly jumping and raising his arms as the crowd roared.

"The tournament..." The cheering died down once more.

"...Will begin with archery, followed by javelin throws, and will end with paw-to-paw combat. Points will be added as follows... Ahem! Archery... twenty points for hitting the target, fifteen for..."

I turned my attention to my sister. "No swimming?" I asked incredulously. "Why did you not pick _swimming_?" It was perfectly normal for every other kind of beast to avoid watersport in competitions, but not for otters.

She returned my question with an indifferent shrug. "He just said he doesn't like the water so I took swimming off of the games."

"An otter who doesn't like water," I scoffed, letting my cheek rest on a knuckle. It was like finding a squirrel that hating trees or a shrew who hated bickering. I could already tell that this poor creature was going to fry and burn, taking Corinne with him.

"You sure you don't want me to jump in?" I asked again. She shushed me and kept herself distracted by the announcements. I let my ears tune in to the drone of the speaker and the introductions of the suitors.

"... Balph Woodbank..." The crowd cheered as an otter in a sky blue jerkin stepped forward. "And from the kingdom of Triel, we have Egan Stalwart." A huge otter took a step out of line, throwing his crimson cloak in the air as a gesture of some flamboyant showmanship.

_That was the one_. I sat straight up in my seat. That was the one that everybeast had to beat. I liked to think that I was skilled with combat, but when I was up against him I was beaten senseless. It was only my marksmanship that saved my victory by a hair's margin. From the looks of things, everybeast in that stadium had might as well give it up.

That otter strutted around the arena, waving at all the beasts. He followed with that, flexing his arms to show off his moronic strength. The audience was practically jumping in their seats- particularly the shameless, classless ottermaids.

"BOOOOO!" Gavin jeered, cupping his paws around his muzzle. "BOOOOOOO, I say! "B-" I grabbed one of his wrists and jerked it away from his face. This was a serious matter and he was completely out of line. Corinne, however, was shoving her over-sized sleeves against her mouth to keep from laughing.

I glanced around, praying that no Trielian had heard that. My parents were staring ahead, though judging from the way General Dirk grinned like a fool there was little doubt that they had heard his outburst. To my horror, some of the surrounding beasts were staring at us with a mix of confusion and curiosity on their faces.

"What do you think you are doing?" I growled, leaning closer to Gavin. "If there is a Trielian here-"

"There isn't!" insisted the petulant child, pulling his paw from my grasp. "I checked."

I forced back some choice, biting insults. Even the idea of a quick punch seemed inviting. Instead, I leaned back against my chair and resumed my proper position.

"Regardless, do not let it happen again," was all I could say before turning my attention back towards the arena.

"... And finally," the announcer blared, "we have our brave fighter that wields his blade on the behalf of our beloved Lady Corinne... Oriel..." He turned and exchanged some quick and frantic words with the mystery warrior. Then the hedgehog turned back towards the audience in an awkward, deflated tone. "N-no family name... Just... Oriel."

The young otter stepped forward and bowed before returning to his spot. All he got were some sparse, confused claps and aimless conversations among the attending beasts.

"Oriel?" I echoed to myself. _Oriel, Oriel_. It was familiar.

"Oriel... I've heard that name someplace," my sister mused. Strangely enough, the girl didn't even seem to know the name of the very beast she had hand-picked herself.

"Oriel is the famous playwright," my mother reminded us. "He was the mouse who wrote _The Tales of Muses_, _Fate's Graces, __...The Calamity_?" We returned her statement with vacant expressions while she rewarded us with a disappointed look. Why would any useful beast care to read plays? Everybeast acted as if seeing a performance or reading literature marks one with sophistication. Senseless.

"Strange for an otter to be named for some dead writing mouse," Dirk pointed out. My father only shrugged with indifference. From his reaction, he had already concluded that his daughter made a costly mistake with this Oriel beast. Clearly, Egan would emerge the victor, my father would finally have his way, and Southsward would have one more precarious connection with Triel.

"Now then," the hedgehog belted out, "let the competition begin! May the winner have a happy marriage!" He finished that announcement with a quick toot of his ridiculous brass horn.

I grit my teeth. If Oriel didn't beat down Egan with his own fists, I would beat that failure to a bloody pulp. Whoever this Oriel beast was, he was in for it now.

* * *

**A/N: Did you catch his name? :D**

**No, it was _not_ a typo. If you missed it, go around the middle of the chapter (around where Dirk shows up) and read it again (or cheat and go to the reviews). I'll give you a hint: it starts with a K. The name should sound familiar to you.  
**

**Now if you are confused about the meaning behind the name, I pose to you this riddle: _Who _would name the fledgling lord after that character? Who would remember the namesake?**

**If you don't get it yet, I am just _dying_ to tell you... but I can't. :( If you don't get it yet then I'm not doing a good job as a writer. Still, if you have any questions about him, let me know so that I can make things more clear in future chapters.**

**And please do let me know if you are struggling with the Southward culture, traditions, locations, etc. Not much is known about them, so I'm building up their mannerisms and lifestyles by scratch. They do tend to be more modernized than the Redwallers, don't they?  
**

**To Professor-Evans: You should get a username so that I can thank you properly. In any case, I want to say that your review had me laughing out loud. I probably shouldn't have found it humorous, but I really kind of did. :P But to answer your question, every one of the vermin children are "broken and rebuilt" to obey authority. Every single one of them. So yes, the vermin of Sword are trying to find their proper place in society though not all of them might be satisfied with Sword. You bring a good point about pregnant vermin and I have already accounted for that; you will have to wait a couple more chapters to find out what Sword does with them. :)**

**Anyways, thank you for all of your reviews. Now... If you wouldn't mind... *pushes out a Review Box* :)  
**


	10. With the Strength of a Weakness

**Special thanks to those who reviewed last week: Saraa Luna, Free Thought, Professor-Evans, ferretWARLORD, and Quaver Ava. **

**Now! On with the show! :D**

* * *

**With the Strength of a Weakness  
**_Lord Keetch Swalestrom_

"Assume the enemy has a weakness and it instantly becomes his strength." - Fullmetal Alchemist

* * *

_Thunk!_

The third arrow lay dead center of the red target, its predecessors flanking it closely. Egan Stalwart bowed and threw his trunk-like arms into the air, urging on the mighty roar of the crowd. He was shouting, pumping his fists and pointing a claw at the target. The other contestants paled at the challenging display of marksmanship.

He was better this time than the last. Had it not been for my archery or swimming skills Corinne would have been Lady Stalwart a mere month ago. I had put up a brave fight, but in combat there were no points to add for punches or dodges. All that mattered who was standing and who lay curled up on the floor. I highly doubted that Oriel would exceed Egan's archery marks... or any of Stalwart's achievements for that matter.

I chanced a glance at Corinne's champion. While his fellow beasts looked about each other with contagious nervousness, he was simply observing with his arms crossed about his chest; in his casual half-sitting, half-leaning position against the wall, he seemed to be a creature of either laziness or crude upbringing.

The other otters took their turns after Egan, each one of them coming up pathetically short-pawed. I pulled in a deep breath and released it slowly. I was not taking the results very well, but my little sister was having a worse time of it. She sat there, her back completely rigid and her paws clasped her armrests so tightly that I thought that the wood would crackle under the tension.

I cursed her ill luck. She put her life in the paws of a fool. Why this peasant decided against a swimming competition, I could never guess! Egan was very muscular and large, yes, but his bulky build was a considerable disadvantage in watersports. While Oriel might not have won first place in a swimming match, he could have at least pulled ahead of Egan in points.

"Next! Oriel!" announced the high-pitched hedgehog.

The otter parted from his peers and stood underneath the colorful string of flags that marked the appropriate distance. The crowd was a mixture of boos and cheers as Oriel strung his longbow with an easy, curving action. A young squirrel ran up to him, offering a selection of arrows fletched with a blend of colored feathers. In a way, it looked more like a creative bouquet than a stack of weapons.

I had thought the fighter as oafish and dull before, but I could instantly see a fierce purpose and sense of intelligence in his movements. He scrutinized the arrows with precision: weighing them in his paws, holding them at eye level to detect defects, bending the shaft to test the quality of the wood...

"C'mon already!" belched an onlooker.

"We wanna git some action!" bellowed another.

"Takin' forever an' a day!"

"Hurry it up!"

The heckling jarred the otter's concentration and I could see the anxiety in his eyes. He tilted his head upwards, scanning the hostile crowd until his gaze met our viewing box. Corinne cast her champion a pitying look while I glared at Egan's snickering.

Finally, the young fighter looked down at his footpaws and nodded as if in agreement to himself. He plucked his three arrows from the pile, throwing two of them into the dirt headfirst. He nocked the free arrow in an easy, singular movement and let it fly.

I gaped at the white-feathered arrow that jutted from the dead center. Then the second arrow appeared as suddenly as a thunderclap, arrowhead completely buried in the bulls-eye. I didn't know a single archer that coupled such fierce succession with deadly accuracy.

Before I could even blink, the third arrow flew into the targetboard and crashed into the inner ring. A _near_ perfect contest that barely beat Egan. I cursed under my breath while the warrior relaxed his bow arm. Every point counted and he was just a _hair's breadth_ away from a flawless trial.

"OOOO-righ'!" Gavin was practically bouncing in his seat while he drummed his knuckles against his armrests. My father gave him a look that hushed him, though that did little to destroy the young otter's passion.

"See, Keetch?" Corinne boasted to me. "He just put Egan in his place!"

"Use his proper title," my mother chided.

"Lord Stalwart..." muttered the young maiden. My sister made a rude face and, amongst the screaming audience, I could barely make out the disgust in her voice. The crowd cheered with their usual raucous behavior but Oriel seemed stunned at his performance. From my view, I could have sworn it was disappointment. His skills were very impressive, but after the first two shots, it seemed that neither of us could understand why he failed with his third.

The javelins came next.

Unlike the archery trial, this relied solely on distance instead of accuracy. Also, each suitor was only granted one attempt instead of three. If the warrior could throw as well as he aimed, he would secure himself as one of the leads whether or not he did well in the paw-to-paw combat. However, Oriel lacked his rival's brutish, moronic upper-body strength.

"I'd put ten Golds on this Oriel beast," Dirk chimed. "If I could, I'd even bet me rudder!" My father nodded in grim response, his paws connecting to form a steeple that rested against his snout. Galen Swalestrom was not the most expressive of beasts, but I knew that that gesture indicated stress. His favorite was Egan and the young upstart taking the lead would thwart his plans.

But like myself, Corinne was just as sensitive to Father's hint of emotional cues. "Looks like Father can't always get his way," the ottermaid smirked. I leaned close and put my paw over hers.

"You must not be cross with him," I whispered. "He only does what is best for Southsward." She only wrinkled her nose and pulled away from me, engaging herself once more at the scene below us.

Once again, Egan shoved himself to the front of the line, swiping at a javelin. Two strings of flags marked the place to start and the place to throw. The brawny otter crouched down, shooting Oriel a contemptuous sneer before focusing his attention on the running distance. Everybeast fell quiet, waiting for him to make his move.

He bolted, roaring and running with all his might before ending with a powerful thrust into the air. His body followed through with the movement, his shoulders turned at the perfect angle and his arms moved in a flawless arc. The javelin hurtled through the air before planting itself far onto the other side of the arena. The suitor leaped up, howling and pumping his fists as rowdy beasts spurred his enthusiasm.

The other suitors, however, were not quite so rambunctious but neither were they impressive. Yes, many of them were quite good, though nothing close to Egan's mark. Their mediocrity did not surprise anybeast. From the last trial, it was clear that the two main competitors were going to be Egan Stalwart and Oriel. For all anybeast cared the other eleven otters might as well have jumped into a river.

Oriel came last, selecting his javelin with as much concentration as it would take to thread a needle. The commoners were quiet this time; after showing his mastery of the arrows, it did not surprise me that he had won their respect.

He hefted one javelin in his paws, bouncing it lightly until he found a good grip. Like the others before him, he stood under the string of flapping, colored flags, calculating his distance. The audience inhaled collectively as he raised his throwing arm forward and up, stopping only when his paw was just beside his ear.

There was no bellowing or war cry to announce his charge. He just charged, tilting his shoulders and positioning his body for the inevitable lunge. He pulled the throwing arm backwards for the final motion. A half-skip later, his back was arched against the force of the throw, a cry of pained effort ripping out of his lungs.

The scream or the javelin, I have no idea what shocked me more. My jaw slackened as I stared at the shaft poking out of the ground.

Corinne clapped her paws against her mouth. "What?" she choked.

His abandoned javelin poked out of the ground like a withered sapling- a lonely figure compared to the cluster of shafts that decorated the center of the field. He had thrown it far enough, but his spear had somehow found itself to the far right of the field. How he managed to throw in the wrong direction is anybeast's guess.

"But he was doing so well!" my sister declared, denying the cruelty of her reality.

"What... just happened?" Gavin gaped. "But he was... there was... what?"

Her brave fighter had either the scrawny arms of a pawmaid or the dried-up luck of a gambler. Oriel was in a slouching position, a paw resting on his right shoulder as he assessed his miserable shot. This time, he did not even bother to look back at our private balcony. Even if he did, his chances of finding assurance or forgiveness were impossible.

The crowd unified in their jeering. Compared to his failure of a throw, they hurled curses and swears at him with expert precision. Oriel only looked down in utter defeat. I could not understand. From start to throw, his form was flawless. The otter let his arms dangle at his side before retreating back to the group of contestants.

Distance-wise, the throw was decent. However, his awkward angle skewed things considerably. It would hurt his score but the damage was done mainly on poor Corinne's morale.

"What in season's name happened?" my mother asked.

"He must have pulled a muscle," my father replied. "He was holding his shoulder after the throw."

My sister whirled upon them, her voice pitching with concern. "Does that mean he cannot participate in the combat round?"

"He can walk out any time he wants to," Dirk answered gently. "But don't you worry, lass. He doesn't strike me as th' desertin' type."

My father snorted at that. "He is _far_ behind Stalwart at this point," he said tersely, pointing at the idiotic spear. "Look at that pathetic shot. Goin' by my calculations, he would have to beat Egan in the final round. And if he's injured himself, it ain't gonna be pretty."

"My bets are still on him," Dirk shrugged, his scarred face set on a careless smile. "He did bad this time, sure. But the four top beasts get to settle it in the next tournament. Wanna set a bet, Gale?"

My father smirked at the flimsy invitation for an argument. "I'll have to pass."

"Aw c'mon, Corinne." I overheard Gavin's reassuring, deceitful words. "It'll be alright."

The hedgehog was standing in the middle of the arena, spouting off the scores and reiterating everything that we had said so far. I clenched my paws and closed my eyes. If Corinne would be sent away to Triel, then that would be that. At the very least, I would not have to live with the guilt of failing my sister. This was out of my paws.

* * *

I watched as Egan pummeled the living daylights out of the poor suitor from Parma. Forget chivalry and honor when it comes to that beast. He knew only how to rile a crowd while his opponent lay face-down in the bloodied dirt. It was savage, the way he would strut around the fighting circle, surging the onlookers with his bluster. I still remembered my shame in the last tournament... how I stared up at Corinne's horrified face while this brute pranced around my beaten body.

While I had managed to win the overall tournament, through that one trial he had sent me a thorough message: "I will beat you yet. See my strength."

Oriel came after, planting his footpaws against the stirred, blood-darkened ground. The fighter's circle was large- 30 paces in diameter and the edgeline etched deep in the dirt.

His adversary was a young Southard knight, bright-eyed, eager for glory, and had the same green look that my brother carried. Even so, considering Oriel's sore shoulder muscles, it would have been optimistic for me to think Corinne's beast would win the round. It was some stroke of divine luck that Oriel had even been selected to stay on in the tournament; now four beasts remained.

My sister's champion gave his opponent the faintest of nods. The knight seemed surprised at this gesture of sportsmanship and mimicked it. Meanwhile, the portly hedgehog raised his arms and the bickering audience fell silent. The speaker held his breath, currying attention from the onlookers.

"Begin!" The flabby arms slapped against his sides.

Oriel was upon the hapless beast in lightning-fast strides. The knight hardly had a chance to react. All he could manage was a flimsy block before the warrior's fist connected with his jugular. The impact rang with the sound of a broken gargle. If Oriel felt any guilt over the merciless strike, he did not show it.

In the second it took for the Southard knight to stagger two steps, Oriel had his left arm hooked around his opponent's waist. With a mighty heave and a turn of his knees, Oriel swung the other otter to the edge of the circle. Momentum carried the hapless beast as he spun on his footpaws, bumbling backwards and stepping out of bounds.

Just like that. In less than ten seconds, it was all over.

Oriel simply rolled his shoulders and walked out of the ring with the casual air of a stroll. Everybeast was abuzz with either wonder or outrage, sometimes both.

"Well that was a cheap shot!" Gavin muttered. As usual, he was the first to commentate. And if the tiny whispers of the crowd were anything to go by, I would say that most of the observers shared my brother's sentiments. But "cheap shot" or no, the fighter followed the rules and still came out the victor. It was one of the chief tenets of combat: _Strike quickly and you end it quickly._

And judging by the fact that Oriel would get very little respite before his final match, it was wise of him to finish the duel with as little energy as possible. Ground fighting usually began with warriors circling each other, waiting for somebeast to make the first mistake of a move. But Oriel had anticipated that. His winning relied largely on the element of surprise. Nobeast expected an outright attack like that, least of all his unfortunate opponent.

But the Southard knight had been let off easy compared to the poor soul that had to face off Egan. That beast was simply toyed with. While Oriel was quick to expel his opponent out of bounds, Egan had his foe completely boxed in. I could have sworn that the poor creature was trying to set paw on the other side of the line, but Egan was all too eager for his fun. But what else would you expect from a beast of Triel?

I shuddered to think of my sister married to such a creature and to live in the kingdom that raised such a thing.

"Next!" shouted the hedgehog. The crowd's volume dwindled off to the point where I could hear the announcer.

"Next," he began again, "we have Lord Egan Stalwart versus Oriel, the maiden's champion."

Summoned to the ring, the last two remaining competitors approached one another. Oriel, calm and quietly modest while Egan continued to mimic a desperate jester, not a single one of his movements suggesting a twinge of pain. Oriel, on the other paw, had already started showing problems by the end of the archery trial. I could not imagine that the javelin debacle alleviated whatever issues he already had.

But the problem was still there. In the last match, he attacked the knight solely with his left arm; that spelled a complication and I was sure that Egan caught wind of that.

The two beasts stared off, Oriel giving a curt nod to his rival while the great Lord Stalwart spat into the dirt.

"Just reiterating the rules!" the hedgehog bellowed, spittle spraying from his mouth. The carry and quality of his voice were as useful as a wet blanket in the dead of winter. "There shall be no weapons, no biting, no claw marks, no throwing dirt, and no kicking of the groin area. Anybeast who even _touches_ outside the ring is disqualified. Furthermore, a beast is disqualified if after the count of ten he is unresponsive to my call. This is the last round, so make it count!"

He gave his driveling speech a dramatic pause before he continued. "By the current score, Lord Stalwart is the clear victor. But, should Sir Oriel manage to beat him... _somehow_... then the tournament would turn in his favor by a _small_ margin. Everybeast, this is the deciding battle! May the fates grant Lady Corinne Swalestrom a bright future!"

He leaped out of the way and held up his stout arms, waiting for the perfect moment to break his pose. Both fighters stood locked in opposite sides of the dirt-drawn ring, their determination charging the air. Everybeast was quiet, inhaling and holding their breath as they waited for that terrible moment where Hell's chaos unleashed itself.

It was so quiet, you could hear a butterfly twitch its wings.

It was as if a spell was cast on the entire stadium, but somebeast must have broke the silence with a breath. The announcer threw his arms at the side and screeched the word "Begin!"

The words had barely left his lips before the two combatants rushed towards each other. Oriel was quick, jabbing at Egan's throat with his left arm. But that move had already been done and Egan was well prepared. The burly otter kept his shoulders against his assailant, protecting his neck. Even with Oriel's lightning-fast punches, Egan kept his guard up: one fist hovering protectively over his stomach and the other over his face. Oriel, however, was only holding his right arm over his chest.

Three more quick punches and Oriel's attack broke its rhythm. I saw a flash of a smile appear on Egan's face before he stepped in, shutting off the distance between the two and jerking his knee up. My sister's champion barely had the time to evade. The lean otter danced out the way in the nick of time only for his bulkier counterpart to charge at him, both fists firing away with equal ferocity.

Bobbing and weaving, Oriel had very little chance to do anything edgewise. Judging from Egan's build, Oriel's left-pawed punches were not even enough to knock off his opponent's smug smirk, let alone bust his teeth.

I gulped. Oriel took too many steps backwards and stood too close to the tight edge. Egan finally had him where he wanted. The Trielian lord roared as he clasped his two meaty fists over his head and brought them swinging down with all his might. A sane beast would have given up and dodged sideways and out of bounds. Either dodge and lose_ or_ attempt to dampen the impact with a block. Considering Egan's aggression and speed, an overhead blow like that would've cracked a skull, but Oriel's reflexes snapped himself into action.

With the abruptness of an uncoiling spring, Oriel threw himself toward his assailant, twisting through the thin gap between Egan's side and his downward-swinging elbow. The lean warrior slipped through the slim space with the precision of a thread swooping through a needle's eye.

The suitor grunted, his empty attack crumbling along with his stance while Oriel landed behind him. But Stalwart was quick to recover, swinging his arms and rounding upon the foe with curled claws. The younger otter avoided the attack, rolling backwards and stopping on his knees, a paw clenched over the dirt ground.

Corinne and I gave a collective gasp and I swore I felt my heart ram itself into my throat. Egan was back on his footpaws too, his heavy steps thundering away as he reeled his right arm backwards to deal a swift blow. Oriel stood his ground and made as if to throw the dirt in his paw.

It was against the rules. I whispered a quiet "no." Oriel must have heard my silent prayer because in the bat of an eye he was somersaulting way, releasing the dirt to the harmless wind. It was too close. Had he carried through with it, it would have meant disqualification.

I breathed out in relief but it came a second too soon. Egan spun around, his hefty rudder swinging full circle and straight into Oriel's gut. The poor beast was knocked off of both paws and sent sailing in the air.

I closed my eyes for just _one_ moment. In that span of time, Oriel was crouching down just a whisker's length from the boundary, his left paw cupped tight around his right arm and ribs. By the sight of him, he could barely even support himself. Egan gave a full charge, every poise in his muscle tensed for a furious kick to the chest that would end it all.

"No!" my sister squeaked. My mouth was too dry for even an utterance of despair.

But at the very moment of failure the warrior managed to pull himself away from the precipice of defeat.

Oriel dodged to his left just as Egan followed through with the assault. Without missing a single beat, Oriel kicked his footpaws up, launching himself upwards and literally _rolling_ on his opponent's back before landing on Egan's other side. Egan started to stand straight up, his face twisting with confusion while the other otter raised both his fists high over his head.

Egan glanced to his own left only for Oriel's double-fisted attack to meet with the base of the lord's neck. I saw his head snap forward, Oriel's arms swinging downward with the motion before rebounding back up and catching Egan square in the chin. The contestant did not even have a chance to hit the floor before Oriel crashed his knee into Egan's brutish face.

Riveted eyes watched as the Trielian lord finally collapsed in a dazed slump, an arm extended over the boundary line.

Some beasts will swear that they saw the burly otter's head spin all the way around. That is a complete lie, though I could see why some less intelligent beasts would believe that. After all, the last few seconds were nothing more than a mere blur... three consecutive blows that knocked Egan's skull about before it even had a chance to bounce off the ground.

Hushed whispers fluttered through the atmosphere; it was as if everybeast was afraid to let the realization sink in. Egan was still stretched upon his stomach and completely unconscious. It was a mercy for him, I suppose. His pride would have never been able to handle the humility of the rare occasion.

As for Oriel, the beast was standing over Egan's body, panting as he let his arms hang limp at his sides. Finally, he pulled himself into a straight and standing position, casting his pale blue eyes in our direction. Nobeast said a word and the victor turned for an unceremonious exit. Just like that, he was about to simply walk right out of the stadium as if it was nothing.

The hedgehog stumbled up to Oriel and gripped the otter's paw.

"Everybeast!" he announced with gusto. "I give to you our champion! Oriel!"

On cue, the entire stadium boiled with fervor. Beasts jumped up and down on the benches and chanted his name. "Oh-ree-el! Oh-ree-el!" Most annoying of all were the ottermaids. Some swooned, some howled his name in hopes that he would grace them with a glance, and others burst into tears for their favorite defeated Trielian lord.

I chanced a look at my father. It was a rare sight- Lord Galen Swalestrom caught in a moment's arrest, an astounded look plastered on his face. My mother, Lady Bellamy, seemed more disappointed than stunned while General Dirk clapped his paws heartily.

"Wishin' I bet my coins now! A real fighter, he is!" he laughed. "I'd like to see him against some of my beasts. That's for sure."

Gavin was beside himself with excitement, hooting and hollering with the rest of the audience. Even an austere glare from my father was not enough to silence him.

And as for Corinne...

"That was amazing!" she gaped, clutching her paws above her chest as she stared down at the warrior below. Oriel seemed dazed, like a confused child staring blankly into the sun.

"Clever, but not amazing," I corrected her, leaning back into my chair and crossing my arms.

My little sister tilted her chin up in a challenging but innocent manner. "How so, Keetch?"

"Assume that the enemy has a weakness and it instantly becomes his strength," I recited. Yet another one of the many tenets of battles. "Look at his stance." She leaned forward and stared at the nervous figure.

"...What about it?"

"Just look at the way he stands. His right arm is clearly not as bad as we first assumed," I stated, pointing a claw at her precious little champion. "For whatever reason, his arm might be weakened, but not to the point where it is unusable." Her eyes remained a blank, slate-grey as she willed me to explain further.

"Think about it, Corinne," I sighed. "In both of his fistfights, he avoided using his right arm the entire time. He made Egan _believe_ that his right arm was useless. Egan took the bait, saw his arm as a weakness and by doing so-"

"Then he completely fooled Egan into underestimating him," she interrupted, practically bouncing out of her seat. "Egan had no idea that Oriel could still pull off a good offense! He's a genius!"

"No. He just happened to be clever. Besides," I cocked my head to the side as I shrugged my shoulders, "remember that he nearly threw the match. You saw him with that fistful of dirt in his paws. You were lucky that he changed his mind in time. And if he acted purely based on instinct, I believe that he is all too familiar with dishonest duels."

"Oh Keetch, you think too much," huffed the ottermaid. "Sometimes I think you sound like a suspicious old shrew-wife!" I raised a claw to speak in my defense but as always, she was much too flighty for me to get a point across.

"Oh!" She cupped her delicate face in her paws and grinned ear to ear. "He's looking this way! He's looking this way!"

The ottermaid hastened forward, leaning over the edge of the balcony. She waved her arms in the same childish manner as the other maids, but unlike the rest, she immediately caught his attention.

"Oriel!" she beamed. "I thank you for your aid, brave warrior. Please!" She pulled a pink, lacy handkerchief from the folds of her sleeves. "Take this as a token of my gratitude!" With that, she lobbed it into the air. It floated downwards like a fresh rose petal, sinking and fluttering until Oriel plucked it from gravity's grasp. If he had not heard her words, her gesture did not escape him.

In response, he bowed deeply, his left arm tucked behind his back and his right paw against his heart- a knight's bow, that. The moment he raised his head, his calm countenance held an unmistakable smile; but as suddenly as the foreign expression reached his face, it was gone and replaced by a bashful uncertainty. His eyes flickered around the balcony and, as if frightened by a noise, he spun on a heel and raced off to the exit. Yes, he left. Just like that, the rude little creature.

"He ain't gonna stay for the feast?" my father scoffed, his commoner's accent getting the better of him.

"He could have at least let us meet him," my mother agreed, wrinkling her nose with disapproval. "Then we could know what manner of beast he is."

But the crowd did not share my parents' sentiments. Rather, this act of modest secrecy spurred their love for him. "Oh-ree-el! Oh-ree-el!" They chanted, stamping their footpaws to the syllables and sending tremors through the benches.

"He's so mysterious!" gushed my siblings. Had Corinne even forgotten how close she was to losing her freedom? But then again, this was typical behavior for a maid.

Respectful and reserved as he was, I did not feel that I could trust Oriel... if that was even his real name. Something was hidden, something I did not like. It irked me that I did not know of his existence before; the very idea that I probably could not trace his family history or his past infuriated me.

He was a fighter, not some masquerading street performer. A mummer with a stage name was commonplace, but a warrior with an alias was a dangerous creature.

* * *

**A/N: And there you have it folks! :) Of course, you had always known that good ol' Oriel was going to tough it out and stomp some people out of the fighting ring. But of course, I'm sure that some other things have become pret-ty apparent to you as well. ;)  
**

**To Professor-Evans: No, the healer rabbit mentioned in Miria's narrative is not Clove. In fact, the healer rabbit was a complete lie in her story (she said so pretty subtly) so now we have to figure out where she gets her intel (which, with a bit of guessing, is pretty obvious). And yes, Southsward and the other two kingdoms are large, diverse, robust places. Redwall is completely dwarfed by them and its location is in the middle of a random forest. They pretty much look at the place as if it was some back-woods hickville or a quaint Amish country.**

**About this chapter, the fight scene was a tough one to write out, but they all are. Oriel's finishing move was sort of inspired by the "Tales of Vesperia" Bar Fight Scene (which you can watch from Youtube). Let me know what you think about the characters and such! :)**

**Remember to check in on the new chapter on Thursday!**

**~Jade TeaLeaf  
**


	11. A Warrior's Masquerade

**A/N: Special thanks to those who reviewed since the last chapter: ferretWARLORD **(who I now have the respect of)**, Saraa Luna **(a fellow FMA fan)**, Free Thought **(who helped me clarify some finer points in this chapter)**, Quaver Tava **(who is extremely observant)**, BladeSniper13** (a familiar face),** and Cairn Destop **(my toughest reviewer yet)**. **

**So for this chapter we jump back to our dear Taggerung and find out what he's been up to all this while.**

* * *

**A Warrior's Masquerade  
**Asch Waycaster

_"Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads  
Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you  
Masquerade! Seething shadows breathing lies  
Masquerade! You can fool any friend who ever knew you  
Masquerade! Leering satyrs, peering eyes  
Masquerade! Run and hide, but a face will still pursue you."  
_- "Masquerade" from Andrew Lloyd Weber's Phantom of the Opera

* * *

_He's waiting for me._

That was all I was thinkin' as I hurried away from the chaotic market, bumping shoulders and wedgin' my elbows so that I could just _get through_. With General Dirk's impossible mission done and over with, all that was left was to report its completion and get home in time for supper.

I left the stadium far behind me, though the distant uproar was still ringing in the air. Even some of the vendors were staring up at the colossal building and questioning the ruckus. It's normal t'have all this noise and all, but not for_ that _long. It's hard to imagine that I- just _one_ beast- could cause such a reaction.

"Must've been quite a show," muttered a vole as he stared at the structure.

"Get yer fish here!" a hoarse voice cried out in the distance. "Good ol' healthy sea bass!"

"- two Coppers ain't 'nuff..." said somebeast to my right.

"Git the last of this season's apples!" chimed a child. The squirrel was jumping up and down on top of a barrel, desperately tryin' to get attention while his father heaved boxes onto his customers. "Git'em right here, folks!"

My paw clutched my sword close as I swerved around the sea of mayhem. Most days, beasts would give me a wide berth, but that day I was not a ferret. That day I was an undiscovered, everyday anonymous tournament-winning otter.

I skipped to the side, dodging some kids playing tag. The markets were always a mix of excitement and confusion- especially when the bigger fisherboats were returnin' to port. I ducked under two pairs of arms as they exchanged coins and goods. At the very least, the guards weren't going to find me in this crowd. Not with my disguise, anyways. It would be like finding a hay in a needlestack, what with all this chaos.

But it was the uninterrupted buzz of activity that I loved. The robust action of a hundred- no, _hundreds_ of beasts swarming together to do what they do best. A mousewife bumbled int' me and I steadied her with two paws before moving on. I was nearly in the clear.

I entered the narrow alleyway and breathed a sigh of relief. The market was so chock full of beasts and hullabaloo that the atmosphere was hot with energy. Where I was standing, alone in the dampened and dimmed alleyway, the air somehow felt a little clearer. I caught my breath and continued on my way.

One vermin amongst a mob of woodlanders and nobeast could tell the difference...

It was just like in the stadium. Standing in the center of a ring of elevated beasts, all of them cheering for me... It was like basking in the sun. I don't know how else to explain it. I just felt so... complete... as if I was born t'do that and only that.

And then there was Lady Corinne... I touched the outside of my breast pocket to make sure that her handkerchief was still there. It was just like in Argyle's works! _The Lady's Gift, Thorns of a Rose, Grace of the Maiden's Knight_! In all of his stories, the beautiful princess always gave the brave and handsome knight a personal trinket.

It wasn't just the gift, but what it meant and symbolized: her smiling face, her words of gratitude, the way she looked at me with such pride, excitement, and such admiration. It was at that moment, when I was staring up at her while I held the pink fabric in my paws, that I felt the rest of the world fade in color and volume. Time slowed and there was only her. She was beaming down at me from above and the way her pink dress swirled around her, I'd even say she seemed to float.

The sun glared down onto my face as the alleyway opened up to a large, cobble-stoned space. Riddian's Square. The place was empty compared to the bustling markets. The area was like a stone park of sorts: all bricks and statues with random potted plants. There were several mothers enjoying the good weather with their cubs, some beasts were sitting on benches and reading, and some woodlander children were playing amongst themselves. I let a peddler and her flower cart cross my path before making my way to Fort Riddian, continuing my trail of thought.

Lady Corinne Swalestrom... The thing is, I've seen some prettier maids in the past, most of them Red's 'acquaintances' and all, but she was just so full of light. When I was standing in the center of the cheering stadium, I remember thinkin' to myself that it was a miracle that I had actually made hundreds o' beasts so happy. But that was nothin' compared to my thoughts when I clapped eyes on her. In all my life, I never thought that I could give anybeast so much hope... and that t'would be such a beautiful sight to behold.

I frowned despite the memories echoing in my head. She wasn't grateful to Asch Waycaster the ferret. No, she was thankin' Oriel the otter.

I checked my arms and saw dark brown fur instead of my usual orange. After seasons of using the stuff, the muddy paint had never failed me. Not once... Except the day that it rained, but that was my own carelessness an' all.

A grating squawk exploded in the air and pulled me from my daydreamin'. I glanced up and saw a large crow soaring overhead, a red ribbon dangling from the base of his foot. It was one of ours, probably Murro. Some woodlander maidens grumbled to themselves about the disturbing sound and I broke a sigh. For the longest time, _everybeast_ had been tellin' that crow to keep it down. General Dirk once even threatened to shove the bird's blasted beak into a cork if it would give everybeast a moment's peace and quiet.

I watched as the crow circled and flew out towards the edge of the city and passed Fort Riddian.

The stronghold seemed to cast a shadow on Riddian's Square. Sword's headquarters meant safety and protection, yet it seemed t' hold a sense of foreboding compared to its surroundings. It was 'ssentially a giant, double-layered, grey stretch of wall that blotted out the morning sun; at night, the windows were like eyes that stared inward towards the dozing kingdom. Somebeasts say that we're too powerful, but a strong defense was a good thing, wasn't it?

_Clink-a-clink-a-clink-a-clink!_

"Hey kids! Get your pastries! Dozens of choices t'choose from! Some pipin' hot and some cool as mint! Whatever you choose, it's always gonna be the best dessert you've ever had!" I smiled at the sight of the figures underneath the fort's shadow- a cheerful middle-aged hedgehog and his inventory. The way his colorful cart stood in front of the main entrance seemed like a brave protest compared to the fort's intimidating and dour appearance. He waved the tiny bell again, stirring the hunger and excitement of the fort's inhabitants.

Soon enough, a whole herd of children burst out from the large double doors and swarmed up to him, jumping to jingle their coins as they held their paws in the air. Most were vermin children, though there were a few odd woodlanders here and there.

"Mista Demble! Mista Demble!"

"About time! I'm starvin'!"

"Me! Me! Ooooh! Me first!"

"Whoa there! Settle down! Plenty for everybeast!" he reassured them. Though the wards of Sword, the children were still required to wear miniature patchwork imitations of the usual uniform. Judging from the way they tore int' their pastries, anybeast could understand why they were given cheap material to wear.

I passed him by and for once I wished that I didn't have this disguise; unlike most other beasts, Demble was exceptionally kind to me and always willing t' hold a conversation. I shrugged off the disappointment and reminded myself that he'd be back in a few days to make his rounds. I studied his customers some more, hoping to catch a glimpse of Barlow. The rat was always calm and collected, but when it came to baked goods, he was a crazed beast. He would practically stampede over the smaller children to get to the front of the line. By the way he acted, y'would guess he was part hare or somethin'.

But no, there was no sight of him. And if there was no sight of him, then Red and Fidchell were still away on their mission to retrieve the scorpion armor. Birger said that they had to detour t' some village later to gather reports so they were maybe gonna take another day or two. I stifled a sigh and stepped up onto the stairs that led to the fort's entrance. All it took were twelve steps but along the way at least ten children zipped right past me, their hard-won pastries clutched in their paws.

Upon arrival to the door, the kids showed their passes to the guards that stood by the entrance. Both the mouse and squirrel looked over the small parchments before nodding and casually waving them along. For me, a full-grown and unrecognized 'otter', all I got were some threatening looks and rough voices.

"Who goes there?" the mouse demanded, brandishing his spear. I knew him, though I didn't remember his name. He was a shy beast, so it was strange to see him with a more commanding attitude. I didn't answer right away and the squirrel put a paw at the pommel of his sword.

"He's with me, good chaps!" The guards stood down at the sound of the voice. Forsy stepped through the double doors, one arm cradling a pile of jellied pastries while his free paw plopped them into his mouth one by one.

"Mmmph! Scmfff! He's a guest here," he explained between gulps. "If you two could let him through without a scratch - Mmmph!" Another baked good slid down his throat. "As I was saying, he's expected so there'd better not be a scratch on him. General's orders, wot!" The mouse and squirrel exchanged glances but brought their spearheads pointing back toward the sky.

It was suspicious, but it wasn't uncommon for General Dirk to have guests drop by the fort. Sometimes it was a rare family looking t' adopt and sometimes it was one of Lord Francis's beasts comin' to chat with the general over funding.

The guardsbeasts gave a quick salute while Forsy wandered off and expected me to follow. "Omffff!" The hare's cheeks were ready to burst and his whiskers were coated with jam of all flavors. No doubt he raided Demble's cart before the children got to it. It was nothin' short of a miracle that the poor tykes had anythin' after Forsy had been through 'em.

"Have the last one, champ!" He tossed a cream-covered scone over his shoulder and I caught it in cupped paws.

"Thanks Forsy," I said in mid-bite. These sorts of things weren't Forsy's choice vittles but they still hit the spot.

"By sweet Aunt Josie's whiskers," the hare uttered to himself, eying for passerbys and potential eavesdroppers. "I could hardly even recognize you, you scallywag, you! Could've even fooled your own marm!"

"Oh, I've fooled her more than once," I chuckled. "But I've fooled ya even more'n that."

"Got to give you credit," the hare said as we passed by a few more Swordsbeasts. He was careful not to say my name... at least, not when I was still in disguise. "Murro said there was quite a flipping uproar at the stadium. Your doing?"

"Sure was," I smiled, following him up some stairs. "Quite a fight it was too."

"And I'll wager you trounced the ruffians, didn't you?" We reached the landing and turned a corner.

"The general said he was gonna bet his rudder on me," I replied, shrugging with barely any indifference. I'm usually one for modesty but this one was somethin' more than a win. In the past, any accomplishments merely meant that I got t' go home early but this was... I could feel that this was _somethin'_ different. Goin' by Lady Corinne's face, I had altered the course of something really important.

The hare stopped and turned at one of the rooms and jiggled a rust-covered key through the keyhole. He pushed the door open and motioned me inside. It was empty save for some washcloths, a few towels, a tub of warm water, a pair of fresh clothes, and a smooth mirror. Obviously Dirk made sure that my arrival would be prepared well ahead of time.

"Join him in his study when you're done, chap," the hare said in a low tone, glancing 'round to make sure we weren't bein' watched. I walked in and I let the bodyguard close it behind me.

A few pawsteps later and I knew that Forsy was away. I breathed a deep sigh of relief as I picked up m' tail and pulled off the heavy bundle of cloth that mimicked a thick rudder. As ridiculous as it looked, that wad of fabric with tufts of otter fur was convincin' on me. I reached up to the pinched-lookin' otter ears and unfolded them so that they popped back up to their regular, rounded shape. After that, I peeled the chunks of clay off of my muzzle to reveal the sharper snout underneath the disguise. With the more irritating bits out of the way, I dunked a washcloth into the steaming water.

It must've been a shock for Forsy to see me like this... as an otter instead of my usual self an' all. Usually I would bathe in a stream in the woodlands or I would slip into my parents' home to wash the paint off, but it was in the middle o' the day and somebeast would pro'bly see me.

I pulled my paw out of the water and saw that from the tips of my claws to my wrist, my fur was muddied but y'could see my vibrant orange shinin' through. I dragged the washcloth over my arms, letting my fur soak before raking the troublesome paint out of my fur. When dried, it was like a layer of dirt but when it was wet it was too much like mud.

Getting it off was the easy part, though. It was applyin' this horrible substance that was disgusting. I remember how awful it was when I was a pup. That cold liquid dribbled through m'fur and slimed onto my skin and waitin' for it t'dry was almost unbearable. For a whole hour, I was _itchin'_ to move, but General Dirk made me stand with m' limbs apart so that t'would dry evenly over my body. I whined quite a lot before the general shut me up about it.

But even through that, I still remember lookin' in the mirror and meeting the flawless, blue-eyed otter cub for the first time. I had touched the smooth surface of the reflection just to be sure t'wasn't some trick.

"Even your Ma wouldn't be able t' recognize yer," Dirk had chuckled. I had always wanted to show my parents, but Dirk always stressed that it was a secret. Unless the general gave express permission, nobeast could ever know. It was for the best, I guess.

I pulled my shirt off my back and tossed it onto a chair. From my head to my belly, I scraped myself clean. Gates, it felt as if somebeast was tryin' to claw my fur off. The discomfort didn't last for long, though. In no time I was waltzing out of the washroom and out towards the general. No doubt he wanted to thank me for gettin' the job done.

The halls stretched before me, the few beasts in the spaces bravely plowing onward with their duties. The intervals of oblong windows threw warped rectangles of light against the walls and checker-board the pathway. The rows of heavy oaken doors remained closed and would remain that way until Swordbeasts would turn in for the night. Above my head hung the faded, windless war flags of ages nobeast remembered. I always got a sense that they stayed there not because of somebeast's love for history, but because they'd _always_ been there. It's like a squeak in the door that you get used to and hardly think about. Any change- even t' fix it- and the whole thing seems wrong.

I paused in front of Forsy and Abon, both of them standing guard at either side of General Dirk's giant doors. I raised my paw but stopped short. It came to me that I'd never actually knocked for entry to his study before. I'd always trailed behind him like a lost baby duck, following him to his study, the training arena, the lounging quarters, the classrooms... everything. I don't know why I suddenly felt all nervous. It was _General Dirk_, fer cryin' out loud. There was no need t'be shy, right?

"In you go, lad," Abon whispered, slackening his posture. "Go on."

Forsy supported his companion with a reassuring nod. "Sounded like he has more than complimentary wiffle-waffle to give you, wot!"

I shrugged my shoulders and felt my knuckles rap against the smooth, dense door.

"Yes?" the general asked from the other side.

"Asch Waycaster, sir," I answered, straightening my posture. They say that y'can hear the laziness of a beast if he slouched.

"Enter," he ordered.

I pushed and the door opened with a shudder. Greeting me at the front, same as always, I saw an age-old table and a scrawl of maps, the overlapping parchments held in place by a dusty tome. I turned to my right and saluted the beast behind the giant desk while he leaned back, the back o' his head clasped underneath his paws.

"Asch, lad!" he said with ease, nodding towards the pair of simple wooden chairs that stood before him. "Have a seat."

"Yes sir." I did as I was told. I didn't say anything. I knew what he was going to say next.

"Well," the otter shrugged his broad shoulders. "Well done, lad." He said it so casually, as if I had finished scrubbin' pots or some chore.

"Though," he continued, his smile widening, "pretty shoddy job with the javelins." My formality melted with his joke and I let his comment roll off my shoulders.

"After I got shanked by a venomous desert-dweller and got m'tail dragged half-way through the desert?" I asked with playful sarcasm. "Well there's no excuse for me."

"Y'got that right," he replied. "And don't forget that you nearly threw the last match."

"With the..." My mind trailed before I recalled the moment. "Sir, with the dirt?"

"Yes that," he frowned. "Nearly stopped m'heart, ya did."

"I'm sorry, sir. Won't happen again... I just..." My shoulders tilted to a shrug. "I just did what came instinctively to me. Throwin' dirt is a little normal for some of my sparring lessons is all." It was true. If I ever had to fight a serious enemy, they wouldn't hold back from stuffing pawfuls of dust into my eyeballs.

The otter's frown slacked and he blew off my apology with a lazy wave of his wrist. "Well, good job, anyways," he said with a proud smile. "Knew y'would pull through."

"So will you finally tell me what was that all about, sir?" I asked, tilting forward in my seat. "I mean, why all the fanfare and cheerin' and booin' and all that stuff? All that noise goin' on in _public_." It's not as if I was some deranged hermit or nothin'. I enjoyed the commotion a little, particularly the end bit. But when I first stood on that stage I felt as if I was gonna keel over from a heart attack. And all those eyes... all those eyes were trained on me and starin' as if I had set m'self on fire.

"'Course we make a load o' noise," Dirk snorted. "You know us lords and nobles. We've _always_ gotta make a big show of everything. I'm tellin' ya, those creatures don't feel important unless beasts make a big hullabaloo about it."

"I don't see why the commoners had t' make such a big fuss about it," I shrugged.

"That's not th' right attitude," the general corrected. "All o' those beasts are just lookin' for some bloody action, aye, but they're missin' the real point. Fact is, son, it _does_ affect 'em." To demonstrate, he held both paws at his shoulder's level to imitate a scale, swaying his stance as he explained. "Girl gets married, Triel plays nice an' opens up more trades. Girl doesn't get married, and that entire bilge-drinkin' kingdom could go sour and we _all_ have a bad mood."

"But why me?" I asked. "I'm not really in the position."

Dirk's response might've been a flick of a wrist. "Naw, I knew you would pull through, mate. You still outstrip the best of us even at your worst."

At the mention of my wound, I rolled my right shoulder and felt the dull ache radiate from the muscles on my mid-back. O' course I knew it wasn't healed yet, but it was habit or somethin'. But that wasn't the point o' my argument.

Lady Corinne was a nice maiden, sure, but commoners weren't supposed to meddle with noblebeast business. Even if she did ask him for help, he could've sent an actual otter. Disqualification on fraud was the least o' my worries anyways. There'd be hell t'pay if beasts found out that a vermin was wanderin' 'round right under their noses... not to mention if they found out I had beaten their own kind so badly.

"General, sir," I began. "I meant that I don't think I should be stickin' my nose in this mess." His brows knit upwards in curiosity as I continued. "I mean, wouldn't it be better if she got married to Lord Stalwart? It's a noble family, so they've gotta be rich. And if it helps bring Triel into some 'friendship' with Southsward, why not?"

"Well d'ye want her to get married t'that brute? The catfish with limbs?" Dirk snorted, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. "Awful joke o' a marriage that'll be!"

"Even so, sir," I began, "I don't think Sword should get in the middle o' it."

"Aw lad..." The otter gave the heavy air a lamenting huff. "The lass just begged for m'help and you wanna take away her last hope at freedom?"

"Begged?"

"Aye, begged," he nodded. He shifted his attention to the document on his desk as if he didn't want to go into more detail. "So if she asked for our help- _Sword's_ help, then it ain't meddlin'. It was an invitation."

"I guess so..." I mean, it must've mattered an awful lot if a noblebeast had to _beg_. I guess being anywhere near Egan would've been terrifyin' for a little maid like her.

"And don't say you don't count. You are a great warrior and I had _no doubt_ that you'd put that Egan bastard in his place. A ferret fightin' on behalf of an otter. So what?" the sea otter looked up and frowned in my direction, though his anger wasn't directed at me but somewhere elsewhere and everywhere. "What they don't know won't hurt anybeast. Honestly, Asch! D'ye even want t'see what your abilities could do? How far y'can rise up the ranks? Get rid o' those silly notions 'bout rules and laws, boy!" He pointed a claw at me, piercing the air to prove a point. "When it comes ta protecting a beast, those things go second."

"Yes... sir," I began uneasily.

"Asch," he sighed, glancing down before looking back up at me. It was as if he had been agonizin' over something for quite a while. I opened my mouth to speak before her held up a silencing paw.

"I'm tellin' ya all this is for a reason." His voice was slow and steady, every tiny interval of words deliberate and heavy. "The thing is, Asch, I need another bodyguard."

"A... bodyguard?" I whispered. Realization hit me like a ton o' rocks and I sat forward in my seat as if I were pulled by a string. "Wait a second! You're in danger?"

"Every day," the otter said with a dismissive wave that made my hackles lie flat. "I'm not about t'become maggot food for a while, though. And I'm not about t'take on another beast to watch my tail. Three bodyguards is a little too flatterin' even for me. But kid, Abon is gettin' on his seasons and I need somebeast to replace him in the future..." The sea otter paused while I blinked at him. Once. Twice.

"Alright," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "I tried t'let you connect two'n'two so you can pretend t'be smart but apparently I have to spell it out! Anyways, you always told me that you wanted t'be my bodyguard... Remember?"

I dumbly nodded at that. I think that my face was blank but I tell ya, my brains were coming off in sparks and my thoughts were zipping every which way like a hummingbird drunk on cordial. It was always like the highest honor in my mind, y'see. It's embarrassin', but it was my top goal in life. Dirk had always been protectin' me since I was just an infant and he always poured so much time int' teachin' me how to defend myself. It made perfect sense that I should spend the rest o' my life watchin' his back in return. That was the least I owed him anyways.

"Don't mistake that duty as a field trip. It's dangerous business, Asch. The best way to protect a beast is t'get rid o' the problem and the best way t'do that is to slit its throat." His words had some kind of morbid gravity to them. It was horrible and serious and I was far too interested to interrupt him. A bodyguard! "It's no picnic and it never will be. Your entire life would be tied down, the meanin' of your life is t'protect one singular beast."

In one ear and out the other. I tilted my chin towards him and gulped. "... You were... talking about me being a bodyguard? _Your _bodyguard?"

He sighed deeply and frisked his plumed feather pen over a parchment before matching my gaze. "Yes, Asch. I think that I could use you as a bodyguard in the future and... Quit grinning like that, lad. It's really off-puttin'."

I cupped a sideways fist against my mouth and cleared my throat. "Yessir."

"Bodyguard... right," the sea otter continued with an exasperated note. "It's gonna need a lot of trainin' and experience. Remember, it's not just your hide on the line, it'll be my tail too. If y'were payin' attention earlier, I said tha' Abon's gettin' on his seasons and we have considered you as his successor. You're gonna need a lot of trainin' and experience to fill his position, lad."

I nodded fervently.

"And 'sides," he reminded me, "your missions should take priority at this time. Build up that experience and all. Y'can be the best fighter in the world but it won't do ya much good if you freeze up in the heat o' battle."

"Yes sir!" I could barely contain my excitement. I was probably gonna be the youngest in Sword history t'ever be a part of a commander's safeguard!

"Hey, don't get ahead of yourself," my superior reminded me. "Remember that this will take seasons of preparation. You're gonna have to walk before ya run, lad. I want you to focus on your tasks as a regular Sword soldier. I'll send for you if any trainin' comes up." He stood, scooting his massive chair with the back of his knees. I stood up too, watching as he circled around his bureau and approached me.

"In the meantime," he said, "I would like you to come with me. I want to show you something."

* * *

**A/N: I think that only half of you will be surprised by the warrior's unmasking. From what I gathered in reviews, at most of you had an inkling of what this Oriel chap had up his sleeves. Hardest part of the chapter was getting the dialogue between Asch and Dirk just right. Whenever my drafts start, the conversations are always too mechanical. I had to tone it down to make it a little to the way I wanted. Plus, my word count this time (excluding A/N) is just below 5,000 words. I'm trying my best to whittle it down.  
**

**Next chapter will be more on introducing you guys to the overall Sword organization and Asch's team. Free Thought did ask when we are going to meet our villains and that is an excellent question. Expect to see some glimpses of them in about three chapters or so. For now, just know that while there is an overarching villain, there will be mini-bosses here and there. The world is a dangerous and shadowy place, after all. There isn't ever just _one_ bad guy lurking the corners of the world. :)**

**Miria: *slides Review Box over to you with a footpaw* Alright, alright. Cough 'em up. Go ahead if you don't want me to bust your teeth in. C'mon! *points to loyal reader that has never reviewed* Yeah, that means you! You don't even have t'be logged in to do this! Jade's seen the Reader Stats for this story. She knows you're there! And where's Professor-Evans? I actually didn't mind him... much.  
**


	12. On the Pedestal

**A/N: Special thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter... Free Thought, Saraa Luna, ferretWARLORD, Quaver Ava, Bladesniper13, Professor-Evans, and Cairn Destop.**

**Just a little warning, there are _some minor crude suggestive/sexual humor_ in this chapter. It's more immature than anything, I think. In this chapter, you see that my own friends have some influence on a few of my characters.**

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**On the Pedestal  
**Asch Waycaster

_"If you pretend to be good, the world takes you very seriously. If you pretend to be bad, it doesn't. Such is the astounding stupidity of optimism."_ - Oscar Wilde

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We walked down the stairs and towards Grand Hall. The sconces burned dimly and threw our twisted shadows behind us. Tapestries and faded war banners lined the walls and decorative suits of armor stood guard in the lonely area.

The fort was quite empty for this time of evening but I hardly noticed. A bodyguard! I'd accompany General Dirk while he visited the houses of the highborn and traversed through the streets. I could walk around and explore the world of the noblebeasts that I had only read about. I almost twirled in place at the thought of witnessing a noblebeasts' ball.

The only thing was that I wouldn't be using my paint disguise anymore. The general never said that, but that disguise cost a pretty coin and after doin' the sums in me head, I didn't think that we had the wealth t' buy enough to for a lifetime's supply o' that goopy garbage.

"I was in your position once." The sea otter's voice startled me.

"Sir?"

"I was a lady's champion before," he explained, cocking his head to the side and smiling as though there was some underlying joke.

My eyes widened. "_You_ were a lady's champion?"

"Aye. I was pretty good too."

I whirled my head forward so I didn't seem like I was prying. "When did all this happen?" I asked casually.

"After Gidiot's crazy war," he sighed. I couldn't imagine the general in my place, bowing and going through all the formalities. I actually liked it, but the general was always the one to complain about 'prissiness' and 'hoity-toity airheads.' That, and he hated showin' off. He never liked to demonstrate the damage he could really do. Couldn't imagine what he'd do when his audience was a packed stadium.

"Orders?" I doubted it. Unlike me, nobeast _made_ Dirk do anything. Whatever he did, he did by himself. Sure he would've had his own commanders, but that was during the war when nobeast bothered with tournaments or weddin's. After it was all over, he found himself on the top o' the ladder. Whoever this maid was, she was probably pretty special to him.

"Who was she?"

"Huh?" He inhaled sharply. "You've already seen 'er. Lady Bellamy Swalestrom." He said it simply and I understood that it was a cue that he wanted it left alone... but I couldn't resist.

"So you won her freedom and she stuck with Lord Gale Swalestrom?" I ventured lightly, still keeping my gaze up front.

"I didn't win," he murmured. Two great friends fightin' for the paws of the same maid. I guess if Dirk had t'lose to anybeast back then, it would have t'be Lord Swalestrom. After all, the Skipper o' the Otterguard did mentor the general through their bounty-huntin' times. I thought back to my memory of the stadium and the private balcony. Lady Swalestrom... she was quite pretty in a serious, noble sorta way. Beautiful, actually. I imagined that she looked a lot like Lady Corinne when she was younger.

"So what d'ya think she would'a done if you won?" I asked gently. No soldier liked to fail a mission and no true warrior took a burden lightly. Whatever happened was a harsh blow t' the general; I could see that much on his face and I didn't want to disturb him that much more.

"She would'a chosen Gale through'n'through" he replied simply. "We both entered the tourney. I was her official champion, but Galen was secretly fightin' in her honor. Together, we doubled her chances of winning. Gale won, o' course, but he proposed afterwards and she made her choice."

"She seemed... content earlier today," I whispered, half to him and half to myself. It was a foolish thing to say, really. A stupid thing. I should've been more sympathetic. The general and I clearly had more in common than just tournaments.

Somebeast gave a cheerful yowl somewhere not to far from us. My ears perked at the sound and I carried forward while the general kept his usual stride. I was just a few minutes from Grand Hall when I heard some ruckus beyond the walls. It wasn't strange to hear all this commotion, but usually it was for feasts or some ceremony or another.

I wandered closer and saw torch lights glowing and spreading around the corners of the stretching walls in front of me. Shadows flit against the grey bricks and merry voices shouted and I heard the clear ring of clinking mugs. Celebration. Definitely a celebration. Curiosity took hold of me and I hurried my pace.

It was as if all of Sword was crammed in the Grand Hall, each of them squeezing in on the tables or finding refuge beside the pillars. In one side of the room was a lumpy pile o' stuff blanketed by several tablecloths. I'm tellin' ya, that jumble had the span of four tables.

But never mind that! Tankards of ale lined an entire stretch of the wall. Geez! Those barrels were even bigger than myself. There were also giant fish piled up at the center table, each of them steaming and seasoned with bits of explode-in-your-mouth pepper and all the best spices the ports could offer. Salads, soups, pastries, cake, pie, turnovers... It was a full-on feast!

"Hey! There he is!" somebeast yowled out. Like a ripple in a pond, beasts' heads turned to me.

"ASCH!"

"The hero of Southsward!" A vole held his near-empty mug into the air.

"Slayer of scorpions!" An otter exclaimed, ramming his own mug into the vole's. A hearty _clang_ resounded in the air and a splash of ale followed in suit.

"And our excuse for drinkin'!" A great roar of laughter followed that remark as beasts collided their tankards against each other's.

"Here here!" they hollered in unison.

All I could do was whisper a barely-audible "what?" I whirled around and shot the smirking general a pleading look. Beast of honor? Couldn't I have had more time t'dress properly? The Swordbeasts knew that I didn't prepare a speech, did they? Was I expected to stand up to receive a medal? But most importantly, Ma would shove a cooking spoon through m'ears if I came home for supper with a full belly.

"AAAAAAAAASCH!" I hardly had any time to react before Red threw his arms around my neck, a frothing mug gripped in his paws.

"Asch, buddy! Glad to see you're alive!" he yelled in my ears, sloshing the cold beverage down the back of my shirt. I squirmed in his grasp and wedged my arms between the two of us, trying to pry him offa me.

"Alright, alright," the squirrel grinned cheekily, dislodging himself.

"Where have you been?" I questioned, raising my voice above the commotion. One whiff of his breath and I already knew where he'd been in the past half hour.

"It's a surprise!" he laughed. "How d'ye like this celebration? You're the beast o' honor here, mate!" He stopped to swat his paws in the air and motion in somebeast in the crowd.

"Barlow!" I shouted, grinning ear to ear as the small rat handed me a pint of frothing ale. I drank deep from it, feeling the warming bitter taste rinse down the remnants of my previous nervousness. "How are ya doin', mate?"

"Glad to be home!" he smiled, readjusting his cap.

"Another day being stuck with Red and I would've gone mad," said a familiar voice behind me.

"Fidchell!" I held myself back from giving him a hug. He was as prickly as a hedgehog caught in a thornbush but I was practically bubbling over with happiness. Must've been the drink or it could'a been the familiar faces or the triumph of the tournament, but _wow_ I just felt as if I could float off my paws.

"Glad to see you're alive and well," the tall fox said to me. His face was cold and serious, but I heard a bit of spark in his tone.

"C'mon! Let's get us a table!" Red insisted, pulling at my elbow and yanking me through the crowd. Beasts pat me on my back and threw well-wishes as I stumbled past them.

"Clear out! Clear out!" Red announced to some of the younger beasts. "Can't you see that the Fire Ferret and his crew wants to sit? Off with ye! Out! And leave the food! Hey!" He pointed at a guilty young ferret that had gotten too close to the platter of goods. "I said leave the food, you lot!" The recruits retreated immediately, staring up at me with admiration as they passed me by.

I took my seat with my team, waving back at beasts as they congratulated me or sent me winks or held up the ale mugs as a sign of respect. Friends or strangers, it didn't matter. It was exciting, this. It was like being back in the center of the stadium and hearing everybeast chanting and cheering and practically throwing themselves into the air. There was no other energy like it.

"Hey!" Red laughed. "Lay off the sweets, Asch. Do you have _any_ idea how hard we had to work to drag your half-dead corpse through the desert? One more ounce of blubber in your gut and we never would've made it!"

"Oh stuff it," I said with a nudge, shoving a lemon square into my gullet.

"Oh please!" Barlow snorted at the squirrel. "It was Fidchell and I who dragged him through the desert. Even _Lodj_ helped more than you."

"That's unfair," said Red.

"He wouldn't stop cryin' the entire way," Fidchell scoffed. "He kept weeping into his tail and spewing all sorts of nonsense."

"Oh, come off it!" he protested.

I leaned forward eagerly. "Like what?"

Barlow threw his a wrist over his forehead and leaned back in a dramatic pose. "Oh Fates!" The rat swooned and spoke t' the ceiling in a surprisingly well-done feminine voice. "If you would just let my good buddy live, I swear by my tail that I will never chase another maid again!"

I howled with laughter, pounding the tabletop while Red's tail bristled behind him like an over-sized bottle-brush.

"I never made any such promise," he scowled, crossing his arms and turning away from us. I turned to my left and stole a glance at Fidchell. If that fox wasn't laughing at that then I didn't think that he had even one ounce of humor in him.

But the fox wasn't even paying attention. He was resting his chin on a paw and staring off into the bubbling crowd. Fidchell must've sensed us watching him 'cause he whirled around at us as we tried to follow his line o' sight.

"What are you doing?" he glowered.

"Aaaaaah." The squirrel gave him a wide, toothy grin. "Checking out Venna, are we?" The fox wrinkled his nose but kept his gaze sharp and somewhat threatening. From his reaction there was no way he could deny it.

"What of it?" he asked tersely. I looked over his shoulder and observed the vixen as she approached us. It's a shame, really. She could've been pretty had it not been for the faded Juska markings that riddled over her face. The worst parts were the hideous, fat horizontal lines that ran along her snout. But plain, pretty, or ugly, I could see why any fox would be attracted to her.

"Fiiiiiidchell," Red teased, stretching out his words. "I _knew _there was some coy fox in you somewhere." The vixen was dangerously close to an earshot distance and all Fidchell could do was hide his snout in his tankard.

"Stop talking nonsense," he huffed, drowning his cursing with a quick swig of mead just as she arrived.

"I'm glad you're all well," Venna said to us in her lilting voice. She turned her amber eyes on me. "Asch, I hope you're enjoying your little..." She tilted her head as her delicate ears twitched. "... party, of sorts."

I lifted my tankard off the tabletop and smiled.

"And you three!" She swooped down into the empty seat next to me and smoothed out the skirts of her cream-colored dress. "Where have you been all this time? I barely bandage you up before you all run off on some week-long mission in the outskirts?" Her words were harsh but the tiny fraction of a smile revealed her true self.

"Yeah," I intoned. "I was wonderin' th' same thing."

"Orders are orders," Barlow recited with an apologetic look.

"We had to stop at a town," Red explained, toggling a toothpick with his teeth. "Somethin' about reinforcing their security and doing checks on their defenses."

"Humph!" Venna frowned. "Seems like an odd job for a few beasts who barely got out of the infirmary."

"They needed us to navigate the deserts and show them where the scorpion nest was," said Fidchell.

Venna groaned and shook her head as if to shake off a bothersome gnat. "I just don't see any reason to-" she paused and locked her eyes on me. "Hey _wait_! Is that a scratch on your head?" I pulled my paw up to defend m'self against her but she was too quick.

Fast as lightning, she was half-standing, leaning over me while she clamped my head in her paws like some vice grip. She wrenched my head to the side in inspection and then jerked it so that my nose was just inches away from the middle o' her chest.

"I... uh..." I tried to turn my head to meet her eyes or something else... _anything_ else. I didn't even dare to breathe! Cripes! How d'ye bring that t' somebeast's attention?

"Don't move," she ordered sharply, fixing my gaze back to its original and uncomfortable spot. "Gates, Asch! I fix you up good and proper and then you go _rough-house_ it and get messed up all the time!"

I gulped and tried to wriggle my head out of her grip but she twisted my ears and held me in place... in that awkward position. "It's a thin scratch," she mumbled to herself, too immersed in her work to notice anything amiss with our inappropriate position. "Can't go a day without doing something stupid."

I glanced over to my friends for help but instead found Red sticking his neck forward and shaking his head furiously in a suggestive manner before Barlow knocked him upside the head. Even Fidchell seemed t' burn two extra shades of red as he tried to pretend he didn't see whatever it was that idiot squirrel was doin'.

"Oh whatever!" the vixen sighed, _finally_ releasing me from my hold. She plopped back down onto the table and scowled my way. "I hope you get infection one of these days!"

I laughed, trying to shake off the awkwardness of the past couple of seconds. I could barely recognize her from that shy and desperate maid that she was three seasons ago, the girl who begged to leave the outposts and follow me into the capital.

But that's a long story.

We just kept chatting a while after that, laughing and joking and, every now and then, addressing the polite beasts that sent nods our way. Even that Lodj kid dropped by to thank us properly. Said something 'bout bein' inspired to join the Healing Division or something. Anyways, I was enjoying ourselves so much that I didn't notice that the din of beasts had started to die down. Red toggled with the toothpick between his teeth as he tweaked his head in the direction ahead of me. Up in front, I saw General Dirk standing on top of the large oaken table, his palms facing towards us as he waved them in the air.

"Everybeast, everybeast," he boomed. Everybeast ceased their discussions almost immediately.

"Now we're all here today to celebrate the good health of one of our best beasts, Mister Asch Waycaster," he announced. "Asch! Get up here!" I would've stayed planted in my seat if Red and Barlow didn't shove me out into the open.

Sparse clapping echoed in in the hall as I maneuvered past the beasts, receiving pats on the shoulders along the way. These were all creatures that I'd grown up with. They were there to see me shoot my bow for the first time, they helped guide me around Fort Riddian when I was a tyke, they had probably each sparred against me numerous times... Gates, more'n half o' them probably gave me a cup o' water in the middle of the night whenever I had trouble sleepin'.

But now I felt myself shrink back at every glance and more than anything, I wanted to duck for cover. Sure it was fun and all before, but this was a little too much for me. A beast could only get so much fanfare before he wants some time t'himself.

I passed by Birger, his arm slung over Ma's shoulders as he nodded in approval. Even among all these "militaristic lugs" as Ma sometimes put it, the otterwife seemed completely at ease.

I hopped up onto the tabletop and stared at the beasts below me while they stared back.

"Everybeast, this is a momentous occasion on our paws," the general announced, clapping me on my right shoulder and pulling me towards him so that my left shoulder collided with his chest. I glanced at the faces and tried to find my parents or even my old team. Instead, all I found was the urge to skitter into a corner and hide. "Asch here has faced off a beast that takes half a score o' Swordbeasts t' take down. He did it almost single-pawed, save for his team." He nodded to his right and I saw Red waving his arms erratically. He looked like a little speck!

"I give you..." He half-turned and pointed at the jumble of dejected, concealed objects that sat in the corner, "the scorpion!"

Forsy and an otter flicked the heavy cloth up high while everybeast gave a collective gasp. By the time the discarded cloth had sunk down to the ground, everybeast was whispering in awe. The black, slicked shell of the scorpion stretched along the four tables, the pieces resting neatly like a set of jig-saw puzzles. Even as it lay torn apart, I could still make out the outline of the monster's body and wiry tail. From the bulky pincers to the spindly legs, to the scale-like hardened back down to the deadly point of its stinger, I could make it all out.

However, it without its sinewy muscles and the spark of life to mobilize its weapons, it was just a husk of its old self... Quite literally. And let's not forget its disgusting, maggoty-colored brood. Thank Gates they were absent here. My guess was that their pale, jelly-like flesh dissolved under the spurning heat o' the sun. I shuddered at the thought while the sealing wound on my shoulder blade gave a tiny pulse of agreement.

"The scorpion armor will be displayed in Riddian Square for everybeast to see," the general declared, sweeping his paws over the crowd. "Everybeast will look upon it and marvel at the dangers o' the desert wilderness. O'course, we all know that there are worse things out there, don't we lads?"

A rough chorus of "Ayes" clamored over more _clink_ing of mugs.

"Right," the large sea otter said, flicking a pointing claw in the air. "And let's not let 'em forget it. But in the meantime, a few little presents for our hero that braved the deserts, stood at Death's Gates, and came right back to us. He was just about t' give up and pass on until we rang a dinner bell," he joked, earning a few seconds of laughter from his audience. "Of course, these came at the courtesy of his friends who braved the deserts once more and agreed t'stop by Norleth town fer a while. You'll see that the forge over there surpasses its reputation."

He waved some Swordbeasts over as they pushed their way past the crowd. They held something in their arms and bundled in cloth. The stuff glinted but I couldn't see what it was. When they were close enough, they lifted it up to the general and he pulled something out from the secret collection. It jingled and shone in the bright torch lights as he held it up for everybeast to see.

It was a belt o' dark, dense leather. Though, instead of a regular brass buckle there was an oblong, pitch-black thin stone in its place. Along the stretch of leather, there were three other pieces of the smooth, shiny material.

"A belt for our brave fighter," he said, holding it up for all beasts to see. "The buckles and stone are made from the thick armor of the scorpion." Dirk held it looped over one paw, practically thrusting it onto me. I took it gingerly while everybeast did _more_ cheering.

"Put it on," he commanded me. I did as I was bid, undoing my plain old belt and before clasping the new one above my hips. It gave a resounding click and the night-black shell gave must've been a nice contrast against the deep blue of my uniform. Everybeast clapped some more but hushed themselves when Dirk held up the next gift: a thick duffle coat with black toggle-fastenings that had a familiar black glint. No doubt it would be useful for the up-and-coming winter.

"Our final gift to our young warrior," he announced, "is somethin' a bit more useful than a belt and a coat." He held up a dagger to the onlookers, letting the catch the gleam of the silver and the sheen of the scorpion armor that made the scabbard.

"Go ahead and show 'em," the otter said, tossing it into the air. I caught it easily, instantly feeling the sturdy resilience of the dark material against my paws. No doubt that the thing was more durable than average iron. I'd even say that it was even half the weight. And the hilt of the blade had a large chunk of the glossy substance. It felt warm against my paws, as if the sturdy stuff was slowly radiating with all of the withering sunlight that it had previously soaked up.

I glanced at the awaiting beasts as I gripped at the sheath and hilt with either paw. The blade separated itself from the scabbard with a smooth hiss. The dirk had a wonderful polish to it and its shape slick and sharp.

I had grown up with weapons all my life and I can tell a regular hunk of metal from a masterpiece and this, my friend, was a piece fit for a lord.

"Th-thank you," I managed. I looked up at everybeast and they stared back at me with such proud admiration. My heart swelled... with bile or pride? I couldn't tell and I didn't know whether I was supposed to duck off the table or stand where I was. It was overwhelming. From the trumpet of the tournament to this celebration of my success, it was all overwhelming.

"Thank you everybeast," I said slowly. But what else was I supposed to say? This wasn't one of the usual showings where I'd do m' thing and walk off. Even at the tournament, all I did was some bowin' and wavin'. I gulped.

"I... I..." My lips separated but not even a coherent phrase outta me. Beasts stopped looking at me and stared in another direction as if embarrassed for my sake. "T-t-thank you," I stumbled.

And then I really stumbled... off the stage. Beasts tossed me some lackluster applause as I shoved m'self back in my seat. The sooner things got back to normal, the better.

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**A/N: OK, OK. This was a filler chapter of sorts, though there are tid-bits of information and character-introduction in here. In every chapter, filler or not, there will be a little nugget of information, so keep an eye out. :)**

**Due to some of your input, I've decided to move things up in the time scale. Next chapter (Chapter 13) is the first intermission and gives us the first glimpse of our prime villains and a few others. It will also be around 3,000 words in length so it will be easier on the eyes (and attention span).**

**To Professor-Evans... Just remember that Miria was narrating that part where you're mentioned. She never gives a full-on compliment, so a half-compliment is actually a good thing. Please keep the reviews coming when you can! :) By the way, you will find out what happens to Clove later. :)  
**

**So review and I'll see you all next Thursday!  
**


	13. Intermission I

**A/N: As promised, here is the chapter that introduces the tension-point of the entire story. This one is fairly short but to the point and it's pretty nice to get back into third-person narrative. Let's see how everything figures into things...**

**Special thanks to those who reviewed last: ferretWARLORD, Free Thought, Saraa Luna, Professor-Evans, Cairn Destop, Bladesniper13, Quavera Ava **(for pre-reading it)**, and Anonymous Human.  
**

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**Intermission I**

_"...the idol of instinct and the idol of force - the mystics and the kings - the mystics, who longed for an irresponsible consciousness and ruled by means of the claim that their dark emotions were superior to reason, that knowledge came in blind, causeless fits, blindly to be followed, not doubted - and the kings, who ruled by means of claws and muscles, with conquest as their methods and looting as their aim..." - _Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand_  
_

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Garla huddled closer to the pathetic embers as they continuously swooned and lapped against the crumpled firewood. Despite the vixen's coarse fur and tired tattoos, her gaze still held the fierce glimmer of her youth. There was a time when beasts would cower before her might, a memory of when Juska chieftains would flock to hear her words, and an era when the Juska would make their enemies tremble at the knees.

But all of that meant nothing now.

A sound jerked her from her attempted trance. Garla swung her snout upwards and at towards the door. Save for the bitter winds and the snapping of the braziers outside, all was still. She breathed out and surveyed the numerous slumbering forms that surrounded her. Everything was quiet except for the rhythmic wash of snores.

The seer sighed and turned her attention back to the fire. It had been a long time since she had seen any omens and even longer since she'd had any good news. She wasn't the only one either. As far as things went, there were only three soothsayers in the slave groups and neither of them had any hope to contribute. Of course, going by the rough past season, she doubted that the two others had survived.

It was hard to believe that a single newborn had reduced Juskajow to all of this. One single tiny being... His birth had heralded a time of darkness instead of the bright one that she had expected. After the demise of her tribe, she had searched high and low for the infant's corpse but her efforts were fruitless. She had always thought that he was in the paws of the Juskatrelk but even that tribe crumbled with the dust. Surely the Taggerung would have solidified strength and encouraged a fierce pride instead of a bunch of deserters.

"If you are near to the dark, I will tell you 'bout the sun," she recited with a soft chuckle. They weren't near to the dark. Their lot was already _in_ it.

She was just about to spatter the dirt into the dying fire when something stayed her paw. The gnarled seer blinked and tilted her head sideways as she observed the flame. A once dwarfed, pallid yellow, the flame had nearly tripled in size and went aglow with a deep shade of red. It reminded her all too much of her chieftain's reaction when she announced the birth of the Taggerung. Zann Juskajow Taggerung.

_Kissed by the sun_.

She prodded the fire with a thin stick, carefully shifting the debris away from the source of the fire. Something tainted the fire and she needed to know what it was. It was too much. It was her first omen in the longest time. A seer without a vision was like a pike without water, a hawk who couldn't see the skies. She _needed_ this. She couldn't bear to live without it again.

Garla mumbled erratically to herself as she pried away at the chunks of timber and woodchips. The charred stick nearly snapped under her pressure but she didn't care. She would thrust her bare paws into the blistering heat if she had to.

She was so preoccupied that she failed to notice the figure that darkened the doorway behind her.

"Fires out!" he barked.

She whirled at the cloaked, lantern-wielding otter. She was much past the slave curfew. The vixen nodded and dipped her head in feigned respect.

"Yes, master."

A few of her fellow slaves shifted at the exchange. A child emitted a tired whine at the disturbance but everybeast else stayed silent at the prospects of trouble. The Trielian held his lamp higher and scanned the prisoners.

"Unless you all wan' an even longer day in the fields, I suggest you get yer rest." Finally, with a grunt, left the modest barracks.

When the intruder was gone, Garla pulled the flimsy, half-ashen logs out of the fire, pivoting the layers upwards to avoid disturbing whatever fanned the red flames underneath.

"Dammit, Garla," a rat hissed in the dark. "'ow often 're yew gunna keep meddlin', hag?"

She ignored him. Crazy, hag, loon, kook, wretch, useless worm. Say what they will, they were not going to get in the way of her next vision. If there was any hope left in the world for their lot, it would be found within the embers someplace.

"'e said lights out," somebeast growled.

"A moment," she said, half to the complaining vermin and half to herself. One final scoop of scorching ashes later, she found her prize: a little black bit of coal with red fire that bubbled out like an aura.

_"Taggerung, Taggerung,"_ whispered the voices from the Other Side. The seer scooped out the tiny thing with her paw. It rested atop the ashes in her palm, sputtering out with what little life it still held. She desperately cupped it to herself, cradling it while tilting her torn ears towards the words.

_"Taggerung, Taggerung. He who bears the mark of the sun_," murmured the agonized chant.

_"The stolen warrior's breath still draws  
Quiet, quiet, Secrets. Hush!  
__Closer, closer, the fighter crawls  
from the lands of plenty where life is lush._

_Chosen One! Chosen One!_  
_Raise thy blade._  
_He who bears the mark of the sun,_  
_be the savior of creatures preyed._

_Leviathans clash and walls do fall,  
triggered by a babe salvaged from sands.  
For once more two kingdoms brawl  
when the Mighty One sees where his legends stand."_

The dying fleck surged with furious energy and the seer almost yelped at the broiling pain that sprouted from her palms. The whispers morphed to screams, swirling in the room and blaring in her ears. The make-shift fire snuffed out and the room seemed to quake while unearthly, tortured shrieks filled the air.

_"__Dark clouds rumble,  
Seas shall roar!  
We will come and claim our prize!_  
_Kings shall fail and castles crumble!  
Find thy truth and war will rise!_"

The ghostly cries went quiet and the coal smouldered along with the voices. The gate from the Other Side closed, and along with it, all the knowledge and reasons of Fate. From her hunched position, the seer turned and saw that not a thing was out of place. The precarious stacks of dirty dishes were untouched, the slaves were still snoozing, the guards were silent. The night was undisturbed.

_"Come, throneless king," _breathed a stray echo. Garla's ears sprang at the new verse.  
_"From the abyss, the fire you carry.  
Justice and power, your rule shall bring  
and your father's guilt you too shall bury."_

Silence.

The vixen waited a moment for any other signs or words. None came and she poured some loose dirt over the dead fire for extra assurance. Any interaction with the Fates was a tiring one; the last thing she wanted was another imbecile guard to come and punish her over a stupid fire. All the while, her mind swirled with her vision's words.

All but the last verse was familiar. She had told her fellow slaves of her prophecies, though all of them laughed. "The Taggerung burnt to a crisp!" they said. Some even swore he died shortly after birth. Yes, a dead Taggerung was a useless one, but the words of a seer was that of truth. Always, they were bound to truth. The fools simply shrugged at her signs and kept to their labor.

As far as they were concerned, no help was coming to them. This wasn't a safe haven of the likes of Sword. Nobeast ever got out of Triel's slave quarters except in a cart full of decaying flesh and festering maggots.

Many beasts could spare them of their fate; that was to be sure. However, the details and circumstances all whittled down to which one of those would care to do so. It all came down to one beast: the Taggerung. If there ever was any hope, it would have to be with him. She knew not how he survived all these seasons or what manner of beast he was, but she knew then that he would come back for them.

She lay down in her reed mat and pulled a raggedy blanket over herself. _He will come for us when we are near to the dark and he will tell us 'bout the sun, _she recited to herself. Come what may, she would wait.

* * *

Someplace out further to the west, beyond the slave rings and the fields of military encampments lay Arnet, the capital of Triel. To its West lay rich ports, to the east were fields upon fields ready for autumn's plentiful final harvest, a large stadium for tournaments, and at the center of it all lay a large castle crowned with towers that aspired to reach the clouds. To a novice eye, it might have been Floret's twin; but while the capitals of Triel and Southsward held so many similarities, they pulled as far away from the other as they possibly could. By all rights, the two citadels should have mended their gaps, only their history and pride got in the way.

In Triel, customs were rarely broken and, even after its defeat at Southsward's paws twenty-two seasons ago, they still carried on. As far as the nobles saw it, Southsward could have its grubby independence and its ugly territories; so long as Triel held its mines of jewels and gold, relatively few things would change.

At least, that was what the highborns had convinced themselves.

The kingdom's council of mice gathered around a circular table as they shook paws with all the warmth of a passing stranger. After a round of these petty formalities, the beasts cast nervous glances at the vacant throne and then at the quiet herald. With no cue to act on, the mice made a second round of pleasantries, shaking paws and lightly inquiring upon family matters. A third round came and their cheeks ached from the effort of propping up their grins.

"Announcing his highness," a clear voice rang out, "King Garmund."

The entire room seemed to breath out the word "finally" as the noblebeasts brushed back their cloaks and sat down at their allotted seats. Like all kings of mighty territories, King Garmund carried himself with confidence despite the heaviness of his crown. The ornament was decked with jewels that glimmered with only the most radiant colors, the gold weaved about his brow, and a velvety dome capped off the decorations.

The beast carrying this heavy load was of sixty seasons, of a regular build and, save for the pinched expression that was forever melted on his face, his characteristics would have been indistinguishable.

"Your Highness," the noblebeasts chorused. As usual, the king didn't even acknowledge their presence. He merely sat down and waited until he felt compelled to give an order. The silence stretched and not a single beast dared to clear his throat.

"Lord Milton," he boomed. "What is the word on the final harvests?"

The mouse stood up and gave his report. Apparently the slaves would have no trouble to harvest and ship the crops. As for the shipping vessels, the oar slaves were still plentiful and healthy for the port routes and various other voyages. Round and round, the king questioned all the mice of their activities and status. As far as he saw it, everything was up to speed for the change in seasons: the mines, weaponry, housing, harvests, slave stock, trade roads, etc., etc.  
And then came Duke Randyll's turn.

"And what news do you have from our brothers at Southsward?" the king drawled.

The mouse lord stood up and gave a short bow to his king. "Your Highness, it seems that the marriage of Lord Egan Stalwart and Lady Corinne Swalestrom will have to be post-poned another moon. It seems that this new creature called Oriel, dubbed the Edgewise Knight, has somehow beaten him in combat."

"Beaten him?" Garmund echoed. "That brute of an otter beaten a _second_ time?"

"Lord Egan sends us his sincerest apologies as well as his promises for next month, Your Majesty," Randyll continued. "Fear not, my king. As vexing as it may be, this is but a minor set-back. We have three more tournaments to undergo, after all. As we speak, my spies are looking for weaknesses to this Oriel beast. Like any other creature, he will succumb to threats and coins and goods. Please do not worry further on the matter, sire. We will have Lady Corinne within three month's time."

"And if we don't?" Everybeast cringed inwardly at the sound of His Majesty's rebuke. "If we do not get that otter wench here, what other leverages do we use? _Tell me_, what other leverages do we have? King Darian's heirs are far too young to wed, Lord Harmon's daughters have already been shipped to Parma and the Jayso Isles, Lord Francis has only sons, and General Dirk has nothing."

"Sire, we do have two of Lord Corble's daughters wedded to our nobles," another mouse piped up.

"_That_ minor lord? Save for his festivals and grand balls, that beast is useless even in _hedgehog_ standards. No. Lady Corinne has to be brought here to Triel. Without a doubt, she would provide the most use to the future war. Her father adores her and General Dirk is her godfather. The Otterguard and Sword, both military authorities within the kingdom all tied to one single maid that is ripe for the plucking. We can ask for no better combination. Even better yet, her father approves of the idea of her marriage into the Stalwart household. 'Solidify the bond between kigndoms' we tell him. Ha. Too trusting, that beast.

"So then," the king rumbled, pausing only to cough into a handkerchief, "what else do your spies tell you, duke?"

Randyll cleared his throat. "Few things to report in terms of Lord Galen Swalestrom. Nothing out of the ordinary, it seems. The same can be said for Lord Francis and Lord Harmon. But-" The duke raised a pleading paw at his impatient ruler. "Please, Your Radiance. We do have interesting news about General Dirk's activities. According to our spies, he has been circulating even more of his patrols towards the Southwest- towards _us_, Your Highness. He has also been pushing for even more forts along our borders and more weapons from the forge... My Liege, no doubt he has been anticipating our war. However, he does not speak of it during council meetings. King Darrian and the other lords are still hell-bent on reforging trade lines and peaceful treaties with us, Sire."

"I see..." King Garmund closed his eyes and nodded in slow, methodical movements. "General Dirk, along with Lord Galen, will once again be the main opposing forces in the upcoming war."

"Fear not, Your Majesty." The duke swept his paw in a circular motion as if waving an odor out of the air. "Those two will complicate matters, but we will not have a repeat of King Gideon's War. Not if we have Lady Corinne at our tender mercies."

The king nodded. Once. Twice. "See to it."

Duke Randyll gave another short bow before he took his seat. "Yes, Your Highness."

* * *

The Watcher in the dark sat atop the rafters, eying the creatures below him as they continued their talk and reports.

The cloaked creature stayed rooted to the spot, hunched in the shadows while he listened to more talk. After Duke Randyll's presentation, everything else was just idle chit-chat. Soon, the meeting came to a close and the council of mice gave a short bow, announcing to King Garmund that they would spread his orders throughout the hierarchy. The squirrel lords would receive word first, otters second, then shrews, then so on and so forth until they reached the moles.

That was it then. The Watcher couldn't bear to stay much longer. It was too risky and he didn't like the feeling that frosted over the nape of his neck. When the beasts had finally filtered out of the grand council room, he crept through the maze of nooks and beams, feeling his way out as he drifted further and further away from the light.

It was not too long before he reached the thin window on the top of a conical roof. Slowly, the creature squeezed through the narrow opening. From where he was standing, he could see all the buildings, ports, smaller castles for the lesser lords, and most importantly, the high-walled slave quarters somewhere in the distance. He gulped and sent a silent prayer to the beasts within those confines.

The Watcher stooped at the edge of the tiling, narrowing his eyes at the horizon as he calculated his passage home. _Half a day to pass through the town unseen, another half to reach a trading cart that would take me close enough to Southsward, a week hitching on the cart..._

Too late did he notice the dark figure that wheeled overhead or the slight pulsating sound of beating wings.

"KilleeeeEEEEE!"

* * *

**A/N: So, unlike the other fics, I have decided to make other woodlanders the main antagonists. There will surely be some bad vermin here and there, but sometimes I feel like the greatest evil can come from within us as well. I have always been frustrated that the Redwall characters are so goody-goody as long as they're woodlander. Well, in my experience, every barrel has a few bad apples. It just so happens that, in the case of Triel, all the bad apples have fallen into the most powerful ruling positions.  
**

**Pay attention to the ruling cultures, by the way. Between the three kingdoms of the South (Southsward, Triel, and Parma), the nobility functions differently.**

**...Now this is the part where you guys review some and tell me what you thought. :)**


	14. A Lord's Growing Troubles

**A/N: Special thanks to those who reviewed since the last update: Free Thought, Saraa Luna, Anonymous Human, Cairn Destop, and Professor-Evans. Everyone else, thanks for nothing. :P Nah, I know you guys are probably on Spring Break. Hope you're having fun! :D  
**

* * *

**A Lord's Growing Troubles**  
Lord Keetch Swalestrom

_"There is only one class in the community that thinks more about money than the rich, and that is the poor. The poor can think of nothing else."_ - Oscar Wilde

* * *

"Alms fer the poor, m'lord?" A fellow otter raised his palms up to me from his grime-stained reed mat. He was dressed in rags and I regret to say that he was not uncommon in this area of the city. Unlike the bustling markets and multi-layered buildings in the central part of Southsward's capital, Darry's Square was a depressing little area filled with hovels and beggars. It was fortunate for them that I had managed to scrounge up some much-needed food and supplies.

I shook my head and pointed in the westward direction. "There is a newly-stocked kitchen down that path. Follow it. There is no reason for them to run out of food within the next few days." The otter stared up at me with hollow eyes and picked himself off from the filth-ridden ground. For these beasts, there was little they would not do for a free meal. Besides, it was not as if he had much else to do with his time.

"Did you see that?" Gavin whispered to me as we continued on our way. "Half his rudder was gone! As if it was hacked _right off_!" He held his paw vertical and made a slicing motion in the air.

"Take a good look around you, brother," I muttered. Every which way I glanced was another wretched face, a poor excuse for a shack, a puddle of putrid filth, a cripple huddled in a corner, a rattling tin cup, and most of all...

"Stop staring at the pleasure-maidens," I reminded the younger otter. Gavin averted his eyes from the scantily-clad wenches as they threw him desperate, tired smiles. I gave a backwards glance at our bodyguards to make sure that they were not ogling the beasts I had warned my brother about. Gavin's reactions were forgivable. After all, it was a new sight to him and he was still fairly young. The guards, on the other paw, were more seasoned than the both of us and they had wives waiting for them back in the more suitable areas of Floret.

I turned back to Gavin. "Save it for your wedding night," I said.

"Easy for you to say," he scoffed, nudging me in the ribs- a gesture I had always found more vexing than endearing. "You've always known that father was gonna set you up with a beautiful lady. You got Ayda and I don't even have one lined up for me yet."

"There was hardly any guarantee," I reminded him. "We were set for engagement but I never knew if she was going to accept me as a husband."

"I guess," he sulked. "But if it wasn't her, father would've set you up with another maiden. I'm almost of age and he has hardly even considered me."

"Nonsense," I reassured him. "Father is just biding his time." To be honest, father always seemed to hone his attention on me. From council meetings to my tutelage, he had always divulged himself in my progress. My mother, on the other paw, tended more in my sister's favor, teaching her embroidery and the graceful arts of a lady. But Gavin was like an unkempt weed, growing every which way whenever anybeast took an eye off of him.

Oftentimes my brother sought attention from others. Most days it was with a battle instructor and other days it would be with an assortment of beasts: knights, guards, messengers, cooks... sometimes even Corinne. He would oftentimes drag her into some odd mischief every now and then. The two were very close when they were younger, but time and duty had drawn them apart. Today, though, he had selected me as his companion and had pleaded to join me in my noble tasks.

"How long are we staying here again?" he groaned, shrinking away from everything that came within three arm lengths.

"For as long as it takes us," I replied simply. It had been seven days since the tournament and all this Oriel nonsense. No doubt that the Trielian nobility was boiling their heads over the matter. Tensions would rise between kingdoms, certainly, though my sister's victory was justified and in all cases, legal. Despite my family's relief, Father had been trying to find this Edgewise Knight, sending beasts up and down all of Floret for any glimpse or news. All that he received for his efforts were false leads while Corinne remained the subject of envy of all the young maidens, nobles and peasants alike.

But that was hardly anything worth worrying myself over; not when Ayda was getting close to birthing... At least, that was what my mother kept reminding me. In the past month she had gotten into two false labors and I was at my wit's end. As Gavin so aptly put it, it looked as though she was 'trying to sneak a bursting pumpkin under her skirt.' Fates, I could not take it anymore. Pardon my language, but I was incredibly stressed and the sooner she birthed the babe the sooner I could rest easy.

Up until this point, I had never been so appreciative of my duties. My responsibilities to my kingdom was far more calming than my responsibilities as a husband and father.

"Darry's Hill!" Gavin scoffed to himself, interrupting my trail of thought. "The edge of Hell, it is!"

True, the name "Darry's Hill" was a poor joke at best. It was never a prosperous area, though it had once been a respectable place until the Trielites razed it to the ground. It was King Darrian, the namesake of the area and current ruler of Southsward, who rebuilt it when the war was said and done. Though named after him in his honor, I would have considered it more an insult than anything else, particularly when they had shortened the name down to an ignoble "Darry." And rather than set atop a hill, the place was at the lowest quarters of Floret. The most polluted waters, the foulest cuisines, and the most broken and hopeless manner of creatures that one could ever see.

Beasts stayed clear of our path. Even a daft child would take one look at our elegant, colorful garb and decide that we were far out of his league. Approaching us was a brave task for a pauper and our four otterguards did very little to assuage their wariness. I avoided an encounter with an odorous puddle and continued up to our destination.

* * *

"...It's not what I thought it would be," Gavin mumbled.

Where I had expected stacks of pinewood beams and crates of nails, I found stirred dirt upon a clearing littered with refuse. Everybeast shuffled past the construction area, dodging past me as I tried to question someone. A low growl rumbled in the base of my chest.

Inconceivable! Was _one_ decent schoolhouse too much to ask of these down-trodden excuse for slugs? I was the one who had secured the funds, raking in the coins and charming Lord Francis with promises of a brighter future. Due to my diligence, the purchase and delivery of materials was none of their concern. The rag-clothed beggars did not have to worry about hiring tutors or providing security for their school. Even the small matter of class luncheons was hardly an issue anymore.

Keeping to their own property! Was that too much to ask of these simpletons? Was I being _unreasonable_?! I had even gone so far as to contract the Guild of Architects into auditing the area and drawing specifications for a sturdy schoolhouse. I had hired skilled beasts to begin construction at the next sunrise. But now what progress was to be had with none of their tools?

In return for my efforts, was it _too much_ to request that the townsbeasts left the building material alone for the sake of _their own_ children?

The wind swept crumbs of dirt into the desolate air as I stared down at the empty lot. I was no beast skilled in tracking, but the large, scraping imprints left in the mud confirmed that the lack of goods was not due to some delivery mishap. I glanced around at the surrounding lean-tos. Here and there, I saw the freshly cut timber haphazardly propped against the flimsy huts for additional support.

Pathetic. Going by the simple laws of physics, one could clearly see that the planks would do little to hold the shacks together. A moderate gust of wind would be all it would take to make the rickety building tremble. It was not even their pinewood to begin with. It was _my_ material which I obtained through _my_ backbreaking efforts. What right did these peasants have?

My brother blinked at me with concern. "Ummm... Keetch?"

I strode over to the nearest hovel and pulled one of _my_ dense planks from its side. The living quarters shook with the sudden shift but managed to steady itself. I heard some muffled shouts from beyond the splintered walls but I ignored them and turned away.

Furious pawsteps followed and, along with it, a large hare with blood-shot eyes and soot-stained ears. He had a feral snarl upon his gaunt face as he wheeled about, searching for the culprit that dared disturb his territory. It was not long before his wits matched his vision and honed in on me.

"Stop righ' there, you blaggard!" he slurred, waving his fists. "Wot'cha think yore doin' to mah property? EH?!"

"This is hardly your property," I announced, standing my ground while my otterguards collected behind me. I smacked the wood with the flat of my palm. "This here plank is a piece of a schoolhouse that is to be built for the children of Darry's Hill. I had bought the necessary material in hopes that you lot would uphold some honor and not meddle with-"

"AAAAAAHHHaaahahahahahahahooo !" The hare howled with laughter, stamping his massive footpaws against the dirt while he convulsed in a series of choking cackles. My otterguards shifted uneasily while my brother scrunched his way between them. I heard window shutters clap together as beasts retreated to the safety of their homes. Some brave souls, however, dared to observe the root of this commotion and peek between the rows of shacks.

"W-what?" I asked the hare softly. "Do you find this humorous?"

"Hilarious! Corks! Spiffin' HI-larious!" he giggled, clutching at his stomach as if he was trying to hold his innards in place. He took a massive gulp of breath before sending a biting glare in my direction. "So you must be the plum-tucking little brat lord that keeps sticking his smug snout in all the busy-ness of Darry's flipping Hill, wot!"

I shrugged. "Indeed I am."

"You're outta your league, chap!" he barked, spittle flying out of his mouth. His yellow, chipped buck teeth peeked out of the corners of his food-stained, cracked lips. "This s'not the place of lords and candy and sparkles and tickle-me-fancies! This here is where us war scum hide out! Madbeasts, urchins, beggars, pick-pockets, cut-throats,whores, lepers, cripples, orphans, widows, and gnarly old hags! The _whole_ lot of us! Your laws and pleases and this-that don't touch us here! It's take and live! Give or be killed!"

He flicked his arm and a rust-crusted dagger slipped from his sleeve to his palm.

"Now give or be bally killed, bucko!" he edged.

Two of my otterguards stepped out in front of me, unsheathing their swords as I grabbed my hilt. The hare did not even seem to pale.

"Hardly a fair fight, wot!" he clucked. "Fight me one on one, you ruddy riverdog!"

"And grace you, a putrid madbeast, with my respect?" I sneered. "A commoner who waves a weapon at a lord is reason enough for the brigs." I snapped my claws. "Guards!"

My beasts snapped into action and charged the crazed hare. The wiry creature practically folded and went down surprisingly easily, though he did not do so in a peaceful manner. He slashed with his blade, flimsily nicking a chainmail or two as he tried to wriggle free from them. There was little doubt that his inebriation had dampened his strength and hindered his mobility.

He howled obscenities at me, the sky, the guards, the earth, at everybeast who stood nearby... Screaming of injustice, of all things. My brother hung close by my side, watching with morbid fascination as they dragged him away. That left two more otterguards at my beck and call.

I turned towards the onlookers and they cowered as though my gaze had scorched them. "Does anybeast else have something to say?" I demanded hoarsely. Some heads shook side to side while others ducked from view.

"Good!" I snarled. "Now I want _every_ blasted plank, _every_ blasted saw and hammer, _every_ scrap of tarp, _every_ speck of nail, back here by sundown! Anything that you found here-" I thrust a claw at the empty, gouged lot, "- is to be returned where you found it. If I find any of these forbidden materials on your person, I will have you locked in the brigs! And don't you think I won't!"

Nobeast said a word. For the longest time there was silence.

Even when I marched off towards Floret, there was not even a whisper of sound save for the scuff of dirt underneath my footpaws.

"Keetch?"

"What?" I snapped at my brother. I kept my stride while he struggled with his words.

"This work you do, this isn't something that father put you up to, is it?" he asked.

"No," I replied tersely. "It is something that I have assigned for myself."

"What for?" His eyes were wide with a strange hybrid of fear and cautious admiration. "That hare would've killed you! He was insane!"

"Do not state the obvious! It makes you sound dull!" I snapped. Gavin winced at my words and I found myself blowing air through my teeth.

"I do this work because somebeast has to," I answered. "Look around you. They have as much hope as they have food in their larders. Now tell me, how are they to continue with this abominable lifestyle? Should they go on this way, living as vermin?"

"Well..."

"No," I finished for him. "No they are not. A noble's duty is to his countrybeasts, large and small, young and old, poor and rich. The rest of the large council might have forgotten what the war did to the beasts here, but I have not. I tend to drag it out of this squalor and back into a livable environment, brick by brick."

Truth be told, the hare might have actually been a soldier who succumbed to his basest natures during the war and never found a way to resurface. Even when the Trielian king surrendered to Southsward, broken beasts like him found little ways to repair themselves. Families were dead, lost, or misplaced during the chaos. Homes and farms were burnt beyond recognition. Beasts came home crippled or with wounds that the eyes could not see. What happened to those unfortunate beings? Did they all degrade to that poor husk of a fighter?

"Building up a slum?" Gavin reiterated. "But that's not even your job," he said pointedly. "You're supposed to inherit Father's role as Skipper of the Otterguard! All of this other stuff is Lord Corble's work!"

Lord Corble, Minister of Morale, found more interests in fostering sculptures, theaters, festivals, and the like. An amazingly superfluous creature, that one.

"A shrew would sooner move a mountain before our good lord starts to show concern for the poor beasts here," I stated. Fates bless the beast that decided against his promotion to Lord of Kingdom Affairs. I could not imagine that hedgehog in a peace conference with Triel and Parma. Even Gavin would fare better with such a task.

"Well why a schoolhouse?" he piped. "They could use more of soup kitchens or something."

"Catch a beast a fish and you feed him for a day," I recited. "_Teach _a beast to fish and you feed him for a lifetime."

"... Or you can eat the fish yourself," Gavin chuckled, finding his joke exceedingly clever. "He's a grown beast. Fishing ain't that hard."

I did not even smile and Gavin's delayed sense of social skills prompted him to hold his tongue. Silence substituted the questionnaire for several minutes while we surveyed the area around us. Around every bend was a wretched beggar, a haggard face, and most of all, bickering brats that ought to have had their noses buried in books. I hurried on my way to the central part of Floret, though my eyes had lingered too long on the children.

Gavin followed my line of sight and furrowed his brow. "Well why don't you get the Guild of Architects to help you build the school?"

"Would I if I could," I muttered.

"Why not?" rang another one of Gavin's annoying questions. "It's their job to follow a lord's wishes, isn't it?"

"How naive," I sighed. Clearly, Father did not take him to enough council meetings. "The guild does as the lords wish, but they follow the lord that has the most coins in his purse. Do you have any clue as to how long I had to ask to receive a mere audit and drawing from the guild? A month!

"And before you even ask me," I continued, "the guild is too engaged in building forts for Sword. Forts! Southsward's mighty capital is sinking from the inside and we want to fortify the outside. Why General Dirk Tillwaters gets such a steep amount of the taxes, I have no idea. Now I have to take inventory of the 'misplaced' building material and order extra parts. It would take at least another five days to finish when it originally would have taken a fortnight. This would not have happened if Sword would bring a halt to its vanity!

"Blasted Sword," I muttered under my own chilled breath, finished with my tirade.

The younger otter opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. He knew how irascible I became whenever Sword came into discussion. I have explained my dislike for that thing, have I not? If anything, the organization had made life harder for everybeast that did not have one of their pretentious deep blue uniforms.

And to make my predicament even worse were the high crime rates here in Darry's Hill. My father and his forces were able to apprehend the culprits and prevent danger in the other areas, but Darry's Hill was so chock-full of misdeeds that it became discouraging for any beast of justice. For one thing, there was the thief that had always evaded me every time I tried to catch up to her. She always hid her face and body underneath a cowl though looked like an otter, wiry as she was.

It was always simple things that she stole: a sack of coins, cheap jewelry, a box of apples, and the like. Try as I might, I was never able to catch her. Do not think that I could not run. I was able, though the criss-crossing streets were near unnavigable due to all the slim alleyways and cluttered obstacles that clogged the paths.

Clever as she was, I had a plan to capture her. I had simply never had the chance to put it into action just yet.

_Perhaps next time I visit the area,_ I thought to myself. But in the slums, pick-pocketing was the least of our concerns.

There were some far more sinister and disturbing rumors of late. Talks of maids disappearing and other dark matters. From the whispers, I gathered that these maids were mainly young beasts that worked in and out of the brothels.

It was a matter worth looking into, but try as I might, I could not get a proper census of the Darry's Hill residents. Given that none of these shanties were truly permanent homes, beasts were nomads within their own town, hopping from camping site to camping site at the drop of a hat. How could I report on any missing beasts if even the residents had little knowledge of their neighbors?

Whether or not those troublesome rumors were honest, I had little proof... I did not even have a true method to gauge the damage. Still, there was probably a thread of truth to all of those suppositions.

"Lord Swalestrom!"

I spun around at the voice, nearly knocking into a middle-aged mouse. The guards moved in, but I raised a paw that gestured them back to a steady state. It was quite clear that this beast was more clumsy than threatening.

On the mouse's lapel was a silver rod-shaped pin that signified his station as a royal messenger. They were a common visitor at my home in Terrace Castle, though I had hardly expected to encounter one here. The creature looked at me, squinting his eyes as if my name could be found on my forehead. Gavin peered from behind me, stretching his neck as he inspected this newcomer. But if anything, the messenger blanched and started switching his gaze between us as though he was seeing double.

"Lord Keetch Swalestrom?" he voiced again, staring up at me.

"That is I," I replied in a husky, exasperated voice. I remember sending prayers that it was not Ayda and her baby.

"Oh!" he breathed. "Oh good, good. I have a message for you. It is urgent! Yes! Very urg-"

"Then spit it out, mouse!"

His body spasmed at my sharp tone. "Lady Ayda is in labor, m'lord! Started midday and we sent a score of messengers but we couldn't find you," he squeaked in one breath.

I did not know how to express my emotions at that moment. A part of me had always suspected that the upcoming infant was the reason for this sudden messenger, but the truth took time seeping in. It was more of dread than shock. My ears felt numb and I uttered something unintelligible. Gavin will tell beasts that I _squealed_ at the news. I assure you that my brother lies.

Besides, it was a perfectly justified situation to 'squeal' at. That, and it was probably a dignified squeal, if it happened at all.

* * *

**A/N: Good day... night? Whichever you prefer. This is Lord Keetch Garrion Swalestrom speaking. I am taking the place of Miss TeaLeaf for this week's Author Notes. I do not often speak for such things, nor do I reply to reviews or your petty "fanmail." But I digress. Miss TeaLeaf has been under the stress of multiple project deadlines, an employment dilemma, midterms, upcoming graduation, and a very grueling 8-hour engineering examination in two weeks. Insofar, I have barely managed to coax her out of the corner of the room but she still remains in the fetal position, trembling and mumbling about a mid-life crisis and all manner of drivel. Tch. Honestly! It is not as though she had suddenly found herself in parenthood or anything of that magnitude.**

***sigh* In support of our dear author, please kindly contribute a review to this chapter. Oh, any length of a review will do. That girl is so easily pleased. And as an added bonus for your efforts, I will personally reply each and every review that she receives. Hm? Yes, that is very generous of me, I know. Believe me, the written words of a lord is a very valuable thing, so I suggest that you take advantage of this offer.**

**Thank you for your time... and if I were you, I would not breathe a word about my "squealing" at the end of the chapter.**


	15. Ghost and Idiot

**A/N: Special thanks to those who reviewed since the last update- Free Thought **(who has sparked the role-playing review thing), **Professor-Evans **(who continues to write hilarious reviews), **Saraa Luna **(who gave this chapter the stamp of approval), **Anonymous Human** (who should be less anonymous so that I can thank you properly through PM), and **ferretWARLORD **(who has returned to us).

**This chapter is more information-intensive than the last ones, but it's for your own good. :)**

* * *

**Ghost and Idiot  
**Miria Wildshore

_"In a closed society where everyone's guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity." _- Hunter S. Thompson

* * *

I licked my claws clean and tossed a stick into the crackling fire before leaning back and stretching.

"That wasn't bad, runt," I sighed. "If you said y'could cook then I would've probably been quicker to be your bodyguard." I'm pretty sure that I'd said that every single day for the past week straight. S'not that I wanted him t'feel good or anythin', I just wanted to make sure he kept up the good work. Kilmar'd taught me that there are three types o' beasts in the world: those driven by coin, those saps that believe that a 'job well done' was a good-'nuff reward, and then there were lazy bastards that did whatever they liked. Well, I figured that Inlo was smack-dab in the second category.

I'll say it again- I just wanted to make sure he kept the good food coming.

"You are finished with your meal, yes?" the wolf rumbled. He had been sitting on his tail the entire time, watching me eat and waiting for his turn. Don't ask me what it is with those wolves, but they have one backwards culture. Somethin' about elders and 'higher wolves' getting first dibs while the others wait or something like that. Whatever it was, no complaints here.

"Yeah, yeah," I waved lazily. "Eat what'cha need." He must've been starving 'cause he practically ate three fish in one chomp. I'm tellin' ya, judging from his appetite he wouldn't be a 'runt' much longer. He was lucky that us otters are good at fishing. Not to mention that luck was on our side that day. Four good-sized fish in the late fall was a pretty rare thing.

Really, I thought that the going would be rougher than this. It was a little soggy and chilly most times but nothing near as bad as I anticipated. And going by the flush of trees and annoying songbirds, I could already tell we were making good progress. I was actually in a good mood... most likely the doing of a full stomach and all.

"Hey, runt. Gonna continue with the story?" I asked. I cupped my paws under the back of my neck as I watched the half-veiled stars. Don't get me wrong. I wasn't talking about the wolf lore and whatever crazy nonsense they believed in. They believed that a giant tree sprouts in the middle of the worlds and that its roots spread out an' hold the continents together! Insane pile of hooey, that stuff. Most nights, I would teach him the constellations and tricks about navigating. But that day, I wanted to know more about useful things like Brink and Keetch, the heroes of the North. If I had to find Brink, I'd have to know as much as I could about that stupid bastard.

"You wish to hear of them again?" I inclined my head a little and saw him licking a fish bone so clean that you could see it sparkle.

"Yeah. Why not?" There was a slight pause and I decided to get comfortable. I used my satchel for a pillow, my traveler's cloak for a blanket, and I folded one knee over the other. I heard the dirt scrape along the ground as he scooted over to a nearby trunk and rested his over-sized head on it.

He cleared his throat so loudly that I actually thought a frog was gonna shoot out of it. It didn't make a lick of difference either. His voice still sounded gravelly and dull and had the occasional squeak of a boy going through the typical changes.

"Greymorg was at war with Redwall and us wolves. They were strong but they did not expect their third opponent: rival corsairs led by Nyara the Hell Cat."

"Yeah, I _know_," I yawned. "Brink and Keetch were traveling to the North to help fight Greymorg when they got their worthless bums caught in corsair nets. You got t'that part last time."

One of his over-grown ears twitched. "Your impatience is a sign of attention," he mumbled to himself before renewing his perky little attitude. "Yes, Brink and Keetch were captured by the Hell Cat's horde. Keetch was a snow fox and Nyara mistook him for a beast of Greymorg. The fox would have had a slow and painful entrance to the Dark Forest but he was quick to claim himself a seer and prove his worth. But!" He whipped a dangerous claw into the air.

"_But_, he would only serve the hordes if Brink went unharmed. Nyara agreed, though she did not keep her word."

"Big surprise," I groaned.

There was a slight pause where all the runt stirred the fire with a charred stick. I rolled onto my side, the nook of my arm cradling my head while my other paw fed sticks to the crackling flames. "Well then, what happened?" I prodded.

"They dressed the otter as one of the cat's chain-beasts and ordered him to bring his footpaws to Greymorg," he continued. "They told him that a spy would give him word. Brink did as the Hell Cat ordered an-"

"Why'd he just do what the pirate wanted without a fight?" I twiddled with a flimsy fish bone between my teeth.

"Because Brink and the Hell Cat were on the same path," he replied, oh so helpfully. "Crooked as the sea-beasts' paths were, Brink also wanted to destroy Greymorg. He did as he was told and the great fort took him into their walls for questions. Only, in the dungeons, the Hell Cat's spy came out of the shadows and replaced him with another otter. By that path, Brink could..." He paused and scrunched his muzzle. I knew that look; the miserable creature was stumped on a word. I rolled my eyes as the runt tilted his head up at the stars as if he could find his missing vocabulary among them. "... Sabotage the fort."

"Wai', wai' wait." I flapped a paw in the air. "Hold up. They had a flipping spy already! If a spy could break Brink outta the dungeons, what could Brink do that the spy couldn't?"

"Patience," Inlo said with an outward-facing palm.

"I've been hangin' 'round you for a fortnight. I'd say that's patience enough, runt."

"The spy was a creature called a pine marten," he said with barely a flick of the ears. "A rare creature whose quiet path stays by itself. No doubt, Fenris could scent him if he came too close."

"You're a 'orrible storyteller." I tossed a pinecone into the smoking fire. "Who's Fenris?"

"The Wolf in the Walls," Inlo explained. "The wolf betrayed his brethren and joined his path with Greymorg."

"Alrigh'. I know pine martens. Stinking, sneaky lot that keeps to themselves. Can climb better'n a squirrel if they can bulk up on the courage to venture to the daylights. So then what?" I stretched my limbs and let out a slow yawn.

"Brink worked as a chain-beast within Greymorg. But he could only do little until the snow fox was captured."

"Huh?" I raised my head slightly. It was an exciting kind of story but Inlo's tale-weaving was as exciting as a wet napkin. "Keetch was captured?"

"Greymorg's forces ambushed the sea-beasts and captured him. Then both Brink and the snow fox were forced to work within the walls."

I turned so that my back faced him. Again, Inlo's storytelling made me yawn so much, I thought my jaw was gonna unhinge. "Alright. I'm tired now, so we'll talk 'bout it later. For now I wanna get some shut-eye. Keep an eye out. Got it, runt?"

* * *

"Miria."

I blinked despite the darkness and reached my arms out in front of me. I had a floating sensation and my footpaws couldn't touch the ground. I felt my throat tighten but I swallowed down the bile.

"Miria."

"What?" I turned around and saw him standing upside down, though whatever his footpaws came in contact with seemed solid. I slapped my arms around the air as I tried to steer my floating body to match his pose. I swore and cursed as I only did lazy somersaults in this crazy, dark, stupid field of nothing.

"Why in Hell's name d'ya pick a place like this to meet?" I scowled, giving the air one final swat.

"This is your dream," huffed the white fox. "Don't blame me for your lack of creativity." I gave up the attempts and let my body float around like a worthless buoy.

"Yeah?" I crossed my arms over my chest as I began to tip sideways in this gravity-less nightmare. "So, Keetch, after all the months of silence, why choose to show your miserable face now?"

"You are close to Redwall," he replied.

"Fan-flipping-tastic."

There was a pause and I found myself hanging upside down. I fought the urge to right myself, but that would've made me look even more stupid in the stupid hell pit of a dream. Sometimes we saw each other in this big void o' nothing but usually it was in my abandoned cottage or marooned on an island or in a forest. But cripes. What did it matter? I hadn't seen him in five months and all he could do was talk in that dead-pan tone of his.

"Did you find the beast of prophesy?" he asked, his stupidly fluffy tail sweeping in the air like a feather-duster. I wanted to set it on fire. "The beast kissed by the sun?"

"What d'ya think, O' Great Dead One?" I snorted. "Neither of us have any idea what kind of nonsense you keep vomiting out of your mouth."

"You must hurry."

"No snot, Ghostie."

"You have to get me out of my vow before anything happens to Brink." His gratingly annoying voice edged on panic. Well, he was the one who got himself in this mess. I was still floating in the air like a speck of dust that refused to settle. Slowly, I began to draw closer to the annoying white fuzzball.

"I don't _have_ t'do anything," I said with a reminding shove in the shoulder. "I'm only doing this because I'm bored and have no better way to spend my time."

His snout wrinkled into a silent growl. "After how I've saved your life many times over, I think I deserve this."

"Well I sure as Hell didn't ask you to do it." I waved at the air as if I was driving off his stench.

"But Brink didm and I've kept my promise..." Ghostie shot a baleful glare my way. "... Though I regret it often."

If I wasn't careful, he was gonna rail off into his own self-importance 'bout being a seer and blahdy-blah. Unlike most other lying scum-sniffers out there, soothsayers are bound by their word. They can twist words and wheedle through loopholes, but they can't outright lie. Even the teensiest compliment on a hideous wardrobe would spell dire consequences.

Dunno why. Something 'bout Fates not liking when seers play with their game. Life's all just a gross game, really. From what Ghostie told me, he vowed to Brink that he'd watch over his family if the otter never returned home. Well, Keetch kicked the bucket and Brink actually never did go home, the little scum-sucker. So bound tight to his word like every seer, Keetch found his spirit haunting my family and doing all sorts of ghostly things. Rattling door handles, sneaking in the corners of sight, all that creepy stuff.

Only problem is that if Brink died, Keetch could never be released from his oath, the stupid creature. He would forever end up watching over me and my hellion descendents, if I had any (and assuming I didn't kill them during their childhood). Forever and ever, he'd watch over Brink's family just as he'd promised. If I don't get any brats of my own, I'm not sure if that'd be better or worse for the fox.

Keetch's only hope was for me to help him find Brink and get him t'release the fox from his oath... If Brink was even alive, at least.

"You're lucky that your words don't have any weight," Keetch sighed.

"You should'a thought things through before you made a bag-load o' promises," I replied.

"I was not properly trained to understand that," he snapped. "Now hurry up and find him. A storm is coming on the way and I don't like it. Whatever it is, it all begins with this beast kissed by the sun. Find him and you-"

"Find Brink," I interrupted. "I _got that_."

"Hurry."

"Miss Miria." It was Inlo's voice. I felt a pull in my guts and the dark void began to fade out, taking Keetch along with it. Like a dumb brat, I reached out to him with an outstretched paw. Always, I seemed to do that whenever I began to wake. And same as always, he just stood there with a stare as dull and transparent as water. He accepted that my consciousness was gonna drive another wedge between us, just as he was accepting his fate to my paws.

"Miss Miria." The mutt's voice boomed closer and I heard the crackle of the fire as the outside world began to seep through the veil. I stretched my arm out and dove for him. I was just a hair's length away.

"Miss Miria, your shift is here."

I opened my eyes.

* * *

Inlo must've noticed a change in my mood. I don't know what tipped him off, the oatmeal to the face or the way I shoved him into a muddy puddle. Either way, he got the picture through'n'through. Sad to say, this was the most perceptive he ever got. He wouldn't be able to navigate himself out of a wet sack.

"Miss Miria," he said. I kept my back to him as I led through the dirt path in front of us.

"Miss Miria, is there something wrong?"

"I woke up last night and saw your face," I spat. He hung back in a submissive pose as I trudged along. Truth was, every night before I went to bed, I actually looked forward to seeing that fox. Sure, I didn't see him often at all, but he gave me direction; he gave me something to do with my time. Hell, ever since Kilmar kicked the bucket, the solitary life was always real boring. That, and he was the only connection I had to my past life.

One thing you gotta know about a fishing island- everybeast is superstitious. Families mounted pike skeletons to their hearths to ward off ill luck and bring good fishin' times. Other families did some ritual with the branches of an ancient tree and hung them over the threshold as a mystic charm. But my family actually had the ghost of a healer to watch over us. My parents told me about the days where they thought my mother was gonna have a miscarriage with Marko an' me. They didn't have much hope, but out of nowhere, the rare medicine-type herbs they needed started sproutin' out from our doorstep. Nobeast understood it and nobeast would believe the truth even if it landed on their laps.

"Miss Miria-"

"_What_?!"

"Miss Miria..." Inlo lifted his snout to the air and I saw his tail scrunch between his legs in uncertainty. "I have a scent of something coming."

I grabbed his wrist and yanked him off the path, careful not to let his dundering footpaws skid to form tracks.

I encircled both paws around his snout as I pressed him against the back of a thick trunk. "Quiet!" His disgusting breath washed over my face as his breathing doubled. I perked my ears and scanned both directions of the path. Sure enough, his big ol' ugly nose turned up useful after all. My paws released his mouth, though I kept one palm on top of his head to keep it back behind the tree. One pair of eyes was enough to spy, an extra is risky.

Ridiculous ears, primp whiskers, wiry bodies, twitchy noses, and the familiar swagger... Hares. I groaned inwardly at the sight. Never mind their stupid "wotwotwotwots" and the bottomless abyss that was their appetite. That's all bad enough. _Long Patrol_ hares were worse than the regular hares. Always.

I sunk back down as the two beasts marched along our same path. My bet went on them going to Redwall Abbey. That's how every Long Patrol hare was. Meddling, annoyin' pairs of ears.

The hares didn't say anything to each other as they continued on their way. I sat and prayed that they wouldn't notice our tracks on the path and I breathed a sigh of relief when they passed us by.

Something crunched beside me and, to me, it was as loud as a thunderclap. The hares froze in place and their heads swiveled in unison and turned back towards us. The wolf mutt shifted his weight and lifted a footpaw an inch off the ground, his expression frozen in a wince.

"Come out, come out wherever you are, wot!" called a hare. I shot the pup a look that would curdle milk. Inlo cringed under my silent snarls but stood up slowly, both paws skyward and facing the hares.

"I, Inlo of the Northern packs, come in peace," he rumbled. I didn't dare look at them. I just wanted them gone. Some dirt crunched underneath approaching paws and I held my breath.

"Alright there, Inlo chap," said another nasally voice. It sounded like somebeast had pinched his nose too hard and left it permanently annoying. "Wot are you doing behind that dilapidated tree, wot?"

The wolf shrugged his shoulders and stepped out slowly from 'hind our cover. "I was told to be wary of strangers on the path."

"Hmph." I couldn't tell if that sound was approving or not. I dunno what's with the hares and being so full of hot air. "Well you've been told right, pup. But fear not, the Long Patrol is here. Colonel Mayston Lancepaw at your service."

I bit my lip at the familiar name.

"Lieutenant Rockfoot Heftears."

"Would your paths go to Redwall, by Fates?" Inlo asked.

"You bet your nose on that," came Mayston's voice. I clenched a pawful of leaves in my palms and willed Inlo to shut up about things. I would've given him a warning kick to his knees but he was already completely out of cover.

"A relief," said the idiot. "My companion and I had our way set for the redstone building."

Even if I couldn't see them, I felt their posture stiffen as their tones snapped with alertness.

"Companion?" said miserable Mayston. I cast Inlo another glare and mouthed the words "I'll gut you in yer sleep" but the damage was done. No need to hide. I stood up, struck the butt of my spear into the dirt, and dusted myself, keeping my face down at all times.

"The name's Cora," I said gruffly. I gave the runt a warning glare that made sure he caught my drift.

"Didn't think we'd even see a shadow of a beast out here today," said Heftfoot or whatever his name was.

"I hoped I wouldn't either," I muttered.

The hares exchanged puzzled glances and I straightened myself up and looked at them evenly. The younger hare was forgettable and unfamiliar but the older hare, Mayston, had the same monocle and his skinny face still had a pinched, squinty look as if a stink was always up his fidgeting nose. Yup. I could never forget a mug like that.

I wanted to slap it.

"So wot are you lot doing once you get to Redwall Abbey?" he inquired.

"Fam'ly. What about you?"

"A wedding," the hare replied, a brow tilting upwards at my choppiness. "A wedding feast and some inquiries."

Wonderful. I would make it in time to make it to see a pair of grinning beasts mix saliva.

"Fun, fun," I muttered. "Well we're camping here tonight. You two can go on ahead."

There was a pause. "We can escort you there, marm," said the younger hare. "We'll have you two there faster than you can bounce an acorn off a-"

"No."

Everybeast was silent as they mulled over my words.

"No thank you," I said slowly. "But we've got to meet with friends along the way."

The second Inlo opened his mouth I knew there was gonna be trouble. "But Miss Miria..." He stopped when he discovered his mistake.

"Miria," Mayston echoed. "Miria..." His eyes narrowed into slits. "Have I seen you before, missie?"

The game was up. But not before I whacked my fist over Inlo's face.

* * *

**A/N- Miria**

**What? The runt deserved it. And Jade's still having a bit of a nervous breakdown, so it's up to me to get reviews out of you, and I'll grab ya by the ankle and shake you upside down if I have to. **

**Any questions? No. Good. Keep it that way. But if you want a black eye, go ahead and ask away in a review. Go ahead. I dare ya. *cracks knuckles***


	16. Dusty Memory

**A/N: Special thanks to those who reviewed... ferretWARLORD, Free Thought, Saraa Luna, Professor-Evans, Anonymous Human, and Airan's Enigma. I have been a little late with review replies, so thank you for your patience. It's just been pretty crazy for me lately. Now, let's get to business!**

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**Dusty Memory  
**Miria Wildshore

_"I don't believe in fate or destiny. I believe in various degrees of hatred, paranoia, and abandonment. However much of that gets heaped on you doesn't matter - it's only a matter of how much you can take and what it does to you."_ - Henry Rollins

* * *

The runt yelped and cowered with his paws cupped over his nose. The younger hare took a step away from the one-second brawl while Mayston stood still as a stone.

"Miria?" He looked like I'd slapped him in the face. A shame. I wanted to make that expression genuine. "No. Not little Miria..."

I stamped a footpaw and growled at him. "Well I'm obviously not so little anymore, rabbit."

"_Rabbit?!_" The monocle dropped off the side of his bulbous nose and dangled by his hip. "How dare you, you scoundrel of an otter! I'll have you-"

"What?" I snapped, gripping my spear as I glared at the beasts in front of me. "What do you plan t'do? Eh? What?" My hackles rose and I beat back the horrible memories that overwhelmed my head.

Only the other hare dared to say anything. "Colonel, wot's going on?"

"It's..." Mayston's prissy little whiskers drooped like withered pine needles. He shook his head. "It's nothing. The beast standing in front of us could never be that sweet girl I remember."

That did it.

"Stop it." I could see it all flashing like thunder in my head. The mass graves. My wheezing when I got that stench of burning fur up my nostrils. Lanterns waving like crazy out at the ships that wouldn't come. My mother hacking as she suffocated on her own lungs. Surviving on nothin' but bits o' dried fish and grog. Waiting to die.

"Stoppit!" I said again. My paw raised on its own and jabbed in the direction of that worthless, monocled, pair of ears on fat. "Stop pretendin' that you don't have a clue. Jig is up. You know my name and who I am. Don't try to avoid the subject. Don't you _dare_ cover it up." I was sweating and my breathing whistled furiously through my nostrils.

Mayston swallowed and jerked his head up and down. "I see..." He took a step forward with a venturing paw. "Are you-"

"No!" I jolted back. "No. I don't need yer pity. Now get outta my sight."

"Miria..."

"I wish those vermin gutted you like the miserable frog-bellied fish y'are."

His ugly face became even uglier and he took three steps too fast. "By vinegar! Now wait just a flipping second."

"I said,_ sod off_!" I wheeled forward and swiped my spear sideways. He dodged that strike, but my paws slid positions and drove themselves down. He gasped at the impact that swooped down on his ribs. I didn't stop there. I spun on my heels, pulling my spear arm closer to me as I gained momentum to deliver an elbow to his chest.

He bounced off with a thick grunt. Instead of stumbling back into a worthless heap, he braced his legs forward and recovered with a forward surge. I expected that. I twisted out of the way and pulled my spear vertical, pivoting it to parry his fists. I backed up, counting the steps in my head out of sheer habit.

One, two, three, four, five.

Experience versus speed. Mayston might've seen more battles but at least I wasn't at the age to complain 'bout back pains. I saw a break in his routine and spun like a heavy top, holding my weapon horizontal to catch him square in the other rib with the butt of my spear.

The second I hit him, a damned tree root caught me in the footpaws and I stumbled sideways. I held my left paw out to steady myself against the trunk. I didn't even get a chance to catch my breath before the colonel snuck a punch in my gut. I lost all the air in my lungs as my toes left the ground. Two more strikes pounded into my stomach before he swung back and his shin connected into my ribs. I gasped out and skid into the ground. My spear clattered out of reach. I coughed, sucking the air down my throat while the trees blurred with the earth.

* * *

_There was a pounding at the door._

_A beast was outside, rattling away at it like there was no tomorrow. Well, there probably wasn't gonna be a tomorrow. Not for him, anyways. It juttered so hard that the nails nearly flew off the hinges and I thought the door would snap straight in half. I whimpered and my mother whisked me to the corner of the kitchen and squeezed me against her._

_I kept telling myself that I had to change this nightmare. I wanted to do something- anything- to change the past. But even in my dreams, I had the spine of a drunken jellyfish. All I could do was relive it all as I cowered behind my mother's apron._

_The door was like a live thing, battering against the wooden planks that barred it shut while some feral voice kept yelling "Open up! Open up, damn ye!" My father and my twin brother were still as stone, exchanging glances while the beast outside demanded food. The voice was familiar but I almost couldn't recognize him. I knew him as the kind, polite otter neighbor and m'dad's best friend. But the creature pounding away at our door was gruff- crazy to the point where you would'a swore it was a vermin instead of a father o' three._

_My father was the first to react. He grabbed the kitchen knife slowly, like he was afraid t'spook a beast. Marko reached to his left and grabbed the shovel, but Dad gave him a warning look._

_"Go wait with your Ma and sister," he said t'him. His voice was low but that didn't mean it wasn't scary. Even thunder can be menacing in the distance. Marko didn't flinch back, but he didn't follow orders either. He just stood there as if he was bracing for impact. Gates, it smelled like fear and death and that awful, disgusting madness of disease. The air was heavy with it._

_"Walsh! Walsh!" the stranger screamed. "You open up! Open up!"_

_"You're sick, Brenn," said my dad. He was soft but still loud 'nough to be heard. "Go home and be with your family."_

_"Family?!" he grated the beast behind the door. "What family? All I've got left is _one_ pup. Now open your door, Walsh. Open up or my boy will die."_

_"I can't do that, Brenn." My father's voice was as tired and worn as the clothes on our backs. "We keep to ourselves so that the sickness don't spread. That's the way it works."_

_We held our breath until the stranger cleared his throat and spoke with regained sanity. "They burnt another ship, Walsh. They burnt another ship. Kelper was on it."_

_Marko cursed while my Ma clasped a paw against her mouth. Dad was silent at the death of a fellow fisherbeast._

_"Friends and neighbors stab each other for a loaf of bread nowadays," the other otter continued. "For a_ loaf of bread_, Walsh! If we can't even stick together, what right do we have to live? Please. Just one jar of preserved fruit. Maybe a bread roll? Some dried fish? Whatever you have left in your pantry. My boy needs it... My boy needs it."_

_"Brenn..." My father paused a bit and smeared his palm over the lower half of his snout._

_"Please," said the broken beast. "Please, Walsh."_

_"Alright." He opened a cupboard, pulled out a withered cabbage, and walked to the door._

_"Walsh!" my Ma hissed. "No."_

_"Dad!" Marko growled. But he was halfway to the door._

_I willed him to stop. I willed him. I knew exactly what was gonna happen and I couldn't make it stop. I tried to yell at the top of my lungs. I tried to scream and tell him no and threaten to kill him if he didn't listen. But I couldn't talk. My tongue was like lead and I couldn't say a damn thing. I should've spoken up. I should've stopped him. But I was a coward._

_With the knife clenched in paw, my father lifted the boards off their placeholders one by one._

_My mother feared for the worst and hugged me even tighter to her. She started promising that everything was gonna be alright over and over again, stroking th' back of my head as she went; her paws got in my view, but that was nothing to complain about._

_"Don't let him touch you," my mother snipped. "Don't you dare let him touch you, Walsh. If you get infected..."_

_But the big fool of an otter gave her a reassuring grimace and opened the door a crack._

_"Oh thank ye, thank ye." The voice was all oily with gratitude._

_My dad's arm went halfway through the thin openin' when he screamed._

_His arm was pinioned between the door and he writhed in pain while a deranged growl sounded from outside. My mother shrieked and Marko grappled with the shovel._

_"Empty your pantry or Walsh loses his arm!" It was another voice this time and I knew it was a trap._

_"Walsh!" screamed my mother. Even if I wanted to get up and help, her arms held me tight enough to crush my lungs._

_I screwed my eyes shut and pressed my face against my mother's dress. I sure was a useful pup, I know. I didn't see the rest. All I heard was wood buckling, beasts squealing, a string of sailors' curses, and the door slamming with a broken thud._

_"Gates! G-gates, dad!" Marko stuttered. Chairs screeched as they slid against the floor and the table toppled to the ground._

_My mother screamed._

_I opened my eyes and looked up. My father was clutching at his left paw, blood slicking his claws and making it hard to grip. Ma practically threw me aside as she rushed to clamp a washcloth against his wound._

_She didn't want to say it. She didn't want to think about it. But we all knew. That blood on his face was not his. It dribbled from the tip of his nose, it dripped from his whiskers, and it trickled in tiny squiggles that tracked down the line of his lips._

_He was doomed and so were we._

* * *

I woke from the nightmare with a splitting headache and the scent of sweet pine and grilled fish. My breathing was unnaturally slow and steady after relivin' that horrible memory. I saw the glow of a fire and the shadows of three beasts five armlengths away from me. It was nighttime and I lay there underneath a blanket as it all came back to my mind: the hares, Inlo being more of an idiot than I gave him credit for, and a fight, and falling flat on my face. A voice in my head screamed at me for tripping over that blasted tree root. If it wasn't for that, I could've knocked the hare's fluffy tail clear off his bottom. And there he was, plopped down in _my_ spot eating _my _vittles.

I clenched one of my paws and found it numb. _Cripes_. Slowly, keeping the other three in the corner of my vision, I tried to move my arm but my paws were tied together by the wrists. _Double cripes_. I had all the bad luck in the world. I was facing the sky and I didn't dare to move my head while they were so close. If I thought they were annoying now, they'd be even worse if they found out if I was awake. I just wanted t'pack my stuff, grab my spear, and get the hell out.

"Best tuck I'd had in a good while, Inlo old chap!" The hare went back to stuffing his gob, stabbing the tin bowl with his fork. _Clink Clink... Clink! _"You going to eat that, wot?"

"We should leave the rest for her," said Inlo's voice. I closed my eyes as I tried to rack some ideas 'bout how to get out. The pup was in the paws of the Long Patrol. He didn't need me anymore. I wouldn't lose any sleep over abandoning him to those stuck-up bilge-buckets... Though it probably wouldn't have been any skin off my nose if he fell off a cliff either.

"Codswollop!" said a familiar nasally voice. It was Rockbrains or something. "After the way she went at the colonel, she shouldn't even have a sniff of this fine cuisine, my northern friend. She got wot she deserved when the colonel gave her wot-for! Hmph! Good tuck, by the way. Splendid stuff, wot!"

"Miss Miria was under my protection," said the runt who never had the guts to look me in the eyes. I would've laughed if my lungs didn't hurt.

"Don't see why you give a whisker for that... that..." It must've been hard for the hare to come up with something to call me. There were only so many ridiculous hare jibber-jabber in the world. "_Miscreant._ Hmmmmmph! She's pricklier than a hedgehog tangled in a rose bush, wot!"

"Steady on, Rockfoot," Mayston said. I grit my teeth. I didn't need Inlo stickin' me with his pity and I _sure_ as hell didn't need that soon-to-be-dead Mayston backin' me either. It was no wonder I got a boatload o' nightmares. His ugly face was too hard to forget and brings back too many memories. "Miria wasn't always like this. From wot I see, the maid's had it blooming rough since we last saw her."

I opened an eye just a crack and saw the one of the hare's ears give a little perk. "Vermin, sah?"

"Aaaaaah, well," he replied lowly. "Different, but it might as well have been."

"Well then wot?" asked Rocktoes. I stifled a string of curses that would've made their fat mothers scour their ears with soap. Why not just shout the entire story from the treetops?

The codger sighed and leaned back a bit. "It happened a pretty long time ago. You were just a leveret then and..." I heard something move and lumber 'round. "Wait a tick, Inlo. Where in whiskers are you off to, bucko?"

My ears twitched and swiveled. His answer was all delayed and dramatic. "Miss Miria would not want me to hear her past," he said. "I swore by the Wolf's Way not to ask her any questions."

"Well if I'm not mistaken, neither of us are the salty seadog," huffed Rockskull. "We're telling, fair and square."

Inlo paused _again_. "Miss Miria would not allow me to... stick my nose... in her business." Lack of smoothness aside, he bet is bum on the right odds. "I should not take advantage of her resting."

Rockstomach moved a bit. I guessed it was a shrug. "Suit yourself, chap." And then Inlo just skulked away to sit around in the woods and do whatever it is that wolves do. The lop-ears were too tongue-tied to say anything until he was long gone.

"Hm," Mayston grumbled. "Exemplary diligence from one so young."

"So wot happened with the salty old girl?"

"That..." Mayston turned his head to glance my way and I quickly shut m'eyes. "That was ten seasons ago. Sole survivor of an island, as it were."

"Wot happened?"

"Dry-ditch fever, laddie," he explained. "One of the worst plagues that could plop over your lap. The Long Patrol was in one of those sea-faring conquests, freeing rowbeasts from slavery and wotnot when we caught wind of that awful, nasty stuff. Oh corks... Lord Rathor was in knots over it. It got three whole islands. Beasts were in a panic.

You should've seen them swarming out in droves, lad. The boats were like ants that scurry and run when you lift a rock. Lord Rathor warned them to go home and stick to their fires. He told them that they would only spread the disease to everybeast else and their brother. Bounders! They wouldn't listen. Then again," he uttered a dry chuckle, "I don't bally well blame them. Burnt them all down, we did. If beasts swam back to shore, they swam. If beasts drowned, they drowned. Couldn't risk bringing them on board and catching the wretched thing ourselves and all...

He shuddered and I squeezed a tear from the corner of my eye. "I saw a mother with a babe, Rockfoot. A mother with a babe and a dibbun that looked like he'd just begun to talk. We burnt down their only escape and I can still see them scratching and clinging to the side of the boat... They weren't the only beasts screaming for help either. We were meant to protect them, but we failed. We, the perilous Long Patrol, afraid of things we could not slay and could not touch."

"Awful stuff," said the other hare. Well it sure as hell wasn't a field of bum-mucking daisies.

"The patrol kept switching back to the undiseased, neighboring islands for flipping supplies. Back and forth, back and forth. From one bustling, healthy island to that nightmare. Each and every time I got back, it got quieter and quieter until not even a leaf moved. Nobeast touched the island for two months," Mayston rambled. "We all thought everything was done for when a few of us docked some of the ports. Sooner or later, somebeast was going on those condemned islands and it was our job to post signs of warning all over the docking areas. But would you blooming believe it, we found a survivor. Little Miria was only fifteen when we found her all alone- the only one of all three islands to survive. Our small team had to coax her out of hiding with some food. No doubt she saw what we did to those boats. Corks. Everybeast saw."

"Hmph! Well obviously she made it through that mess, so you probably took her under your wing?"

"We did," he replied in a pained sort of way.

"Well bounders! She's obviously been knocked out in the head so much that she can't tell friend from foe. You know otters. All that seawater gets to their head and..."

I couldn't stand it anymore. I didn't even know I was talkin' until it was outta my mouth. "Forgot the part where you lot took your time over the debate o' how to kill me, rabbit."

Two pairs of ears whirled around to face me.

"Yeah, that's right." I propped myself up on my elbows as I scooted myself up to a sitting position. Major Stuffears over here wanted t' _politely_ slit my throat."

Mayston shriveled at my words but he didn't give me any lip. Rocknose got the idea and stayed shut up for once.

"So now you get why I'm mad enough t'lop your ears off," I snarled, kicking the blankets off of me. "First you ignored us, then you had us drown, you left us for dead, and then when I survived, you wanted to round the population down t' zero."

"I..."

"And I wish I did have dryditch fever. I wish you had it so you and your buddies would've puked your lungs out before you died. Now," I stood up and held my paws forward as I glowered down at them. "Cut these bonds and I'll be off. I don't wanna hear any more of your prattle and Redwall or not, I don't ever want to see your face again."

The knot in my throat doubled over and the air chilled in my lungs. I bit the insides of my cheeks just to stop my lips from quivering. Mayston stood up slowly, holding both paws up in pleading surrender as if my words actually had the power to kill. Too bilging bad it didn't.

"Alright," he choked. There were tears in his eyes and I almost smashed his face in. Pity. I didn't need his pity. I didn't need him to feel all sorry for himself either. He didn't even have the right to stand before my parents' graves. Or Marko's. Or any of the islanders'.

"Alright, alright," he repeated. "You'll stop this fighting, won't you?"

I nodded and his paws floated over to his belt and retrieved a knife. The metal was cold against my skin as the rope snapped off. I wanted to drive my knee between his legs, but the knife gave me second thoughts. Instead, I yanked my pack, snagged my cloak, grabbed my two daggers, snatched my spear from the fireside, and stomped off without any word.

I didn't have to travel long before I was back in the dark. The thick layer of forest snuffed out the firelight and the air grew crisper as I kept my paws moving forward. My paws were numb and I had that damned feeling of needles in my skin every time I unclenched my fists.

"Miss Miria!"

I almost forgot about him.

"Miss Miria!" The giant runt came crashing through the cover and right up at me.

"Go home," I snarled. "Go with the hares. I'm done with you."

"No."

"I said ge'off my back, runt." A hard shove barely made him twitch but he stayed put for once instead of doggin' at my heels.

"But Miss Miria..." His ears flopped down as he whined and mewled for attention. But no, I just kept moving on, same as I always did.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter was not my favorite to write, but it was one of the easier Miria chapters. Professor-Evans made a few good points about the Chains backstory in the previous chapter. Professor-Evans, thank you for your input; I have put it into consideration and I will try to make the backstory more cohesive in narration. Hopefully, this little background-filler was a little less displaced than the others. If any of you have any ideas on how to improve the way I retell background stories, please let me know. As things are, I need all the help I can get. The action and pacing just seems to go so (necessarily) slow...**

**So... 8-hour engineering licensing test for me on Saturday. Ah, the joys of life.**


	17. Of Pups and Politics

**A/N: Special thanks to the following reviewers (of which some of you I haven't thanked yet): Saraa Luna, Free Thought, Quaver Ava, Professor-Evans, ferretWARLORD, and Miki-chan13. Thanks you guys! :)**

* * *

**Of Pups and Politics  
**Lord Keetch Swalestrom

"The greatest thing in family life is to take a hint when a hint is intended- and not to take a hint when a hint isn't intended." - Robert Frost

* * *

My list of responsibilities weighed down on me like a wet blanket. And my sleeplessness did not lighten the load for that matter.

There was a lot of work to be done tomorrow. A council meeting, for one. No doubt it would bring more discussions of my sister's plans for betrothal. I did not envy Lord Harmon's position on the issue. The Trielien lords were probably cornering him and demanding retribution to what was obviously an honest fight. But being that my father received no word on Oriel, there was little that could be said or done. Besides, there were more troubling and direct matters that I would have to attend to.

The school was built, but there was still the trouble of getting children to attend. Those bothersome wretches only stayed for as long as it took to spread the rations among them. No incentive to learn, clearly. I was a fool to think that an institution for learning would spur some motivation in those young minds.

_But there must be some other way_, I kept thinking to myself. My father told me that the presence of a lord to the citizens ensured a level of trust and respect, though I was clearly missing an element. There was little doubt in my mind that my father would have done a superior job at managing my projects. All throughout my childhood, I was told of his bravery during King Gideon's War. He and Dirk had entered the kingdom's forces like an explosion and cleared out the opposition. Even as a peasant, my father had seen and done things that would equal three lifetimes for any regular beast.

I wandered into my chambers and lingered at the doorway.

"Will you shut the door?"

Too fatigued to argue, I did as I was told. Ayda was sitting in her favorite armchair, the otterpup curled against her chest and in a fitful slumber. I got dressed in my nightclothes and approached her as she cradled the infant.

"Can she _not_ sleep in our chamber tonight?" I sighed. I hated asking anything out of my wife. Usually it would take hours of discussion to sway her to any degree, even in trivial matters such as this.

She spared me a second to give me a disappointed look. "I told you when we got married, we follow _my_ kingdom's customs when it comes to children." I groaned at her reminder and resigned to the comforts of my bed.

"Jis' go to the guest chambers if you need more rest," she whispered.

The master of the estate sleeping in the guest beds? A ridiculous notion.

"As much as I appreciate your valuable input, I will stay within _my_ own chambers within _my_ home," I muttered.

"I don't understand it." She stood up, her arms settling her burden into the crib. The babe shifted and made whimpered protests; I winced at the noises, praying to Great Seasons that she would behave herself just for one night. She settled down and I breathed a sigh of relief, flopping my head down into the pillows.

"I don't understand it," Ayda repeated as she slid herself under the covers. "Lady Bellamy tells me that your father was very fond of you when you were a child. She said he would hardly put you down and doted on you with every free second. He was just so with all of his children."

"I am not my father."

"Well..." She flopped the back of her paw against the linens while she shook her head. "That part of him has certainly rubbed off on your siblings. They come by our chambers every day to see little Arlie. Your parents come by as well... Oh, good Gates! Even the servants show more interest than you."

Arlie. Pronounced ar-lee. No, that name was not of my choosing. My daughter's rightful name is Arlyn Layna Swalestrom, though her noble title was shortened to Arlie. A peasant's irksome pet name, really.

"I do not see why I should care at this stage," I yawned. "What is it about newborns that makes beasts turn all soft? I understand that females and other children would fawn over them, though I hardly see why a male should be interested. At this age, I can count her capabilities on the claws of one paw: eat, sleep, _cry_, and soil her diapers."

I felt the mattress move as she rolled over to her side and away from me, much to my relief.

* * *

The next day began with another raucous awakening but my sleep was an improvement compared to the first few nights. Either way, I was far too fatigued to walk to Castle Floret. Rather, I let some servants pull the cart-wagon and deliver me to my destination. And to make my morning worse, my father was sure to mention my state at the front of the palace gates.

"Haven't seen you like this since the day after your wedding!" he chuckled. Needless to say, I was not in the mood for banter.

"Did you have to wait long?" I asked, stepping in stride with him as we walked between the aisle of palace guards.

"Nah," he replied with a swat of his paw. "We're still early anyways. My bet is that the other lords haven't even arrived yet..." He paused a bit as he assessed my state of being. "You sure you don't want to take leave? You look as bad as a waterlogged mole."

"Believe me when I say this: I would much rather be here than near that squalling nightmare," I yawned.

"You'll get used to fatherhood, Keetch," he grinned. "Not everybeast takes to it like a duck to water, but give it time."

I suppressed a groan. "Why does everybeast insist that I coddle this infant? I care for her and that should be enough. I should not have to grin like a fool and coo at her every time she blinks. Next, they will be telling me to breastfeed."

A pawful of footbeasts held the doors open and welcomed us with soft-spoken words and a bow. My father was quiet. No doubt he was uncomfortable to discuss the topic further so long as the servants were present. Instead, he gave me a thoughtful look before a mouse escorted us through the large castle and into the Grand Council Room. Rows of portraits, war banners, and bejeweled ornaments followed us to our destination. Tapestries depicting rolling green hills and kneeling lords adorned some of the walls- a story about the kingdom's origins, probably.

All the while, I could tell that my lord father was contemplating his words for our next private moment. There was little doubt that he was going to pursue the subject. Our guides halted in front of a pair of large, double oaken doors that stood thrice my height. At that moment, I prayed for at least one other lord to distract my father from my perceived shortcomings.

But alas, the doors creaked open and revealed a large and very vacant room.

"His Majesty and the other advisers will join you in a moment, my lords," said the servants as they held the doors open for us. I walked in while my father waved off our bodyguards and told them to wait outside for the time being. I took my seat at the table and successfully hid a grimace as my father pulled up a heavy chair to my right.

"So to continue our discussion..." He settled himself into his seat and rapped at the table. "I just think that y'should just do it to humor your wife a little. I mean, she's got to be a _little_ worried that you won't care for the pup... especially when it's a little lass."

I rolled my eyes in response. "Ayda keeps reminding me that her father cared very much for her despite the fact that she was born a female. Always, she emphasizes the part about the gender."

"If I knew you any less, I'd be worried too," he replied. "A lot of fathers don't give a fig about their daughters. For all they care, they are just pawns that can be traded around like a sack of flour. When the midwife made the announcement, I could see your disappointment as clearly as I c'n see the nose on your face."

"Lady Ayda should not be so surprised by my reaction," I snorted. I caught my disrespectful tone and gave it a prompt and proper adjustment. "Besides, male or female, I have never been enthusiastic for infants. If you have not noticed, I only became fond of Gavin and Corinne when they began to walk and talk-"

"-and follow you around like lost ducklings," he finished. He stifled a laugh and then looked at me in a manner more befitting a lord. "The ways are a little different across the seas, Keetch. Parmans let their daughters be heirs whether or not there're any sons in the family. Must be difficult for Lady Ayda to hear that her daughter is a lesser beast in this kingdom."

"No," I reminded him. "She made it painfully clear that our daughter will receive the same rights as any maid in Parma. She would have to go through the same marriage rites, though the girl will have the freedom of owning estates or attending council meetings. Being that females' chief interests lie in books and embroidery and the company of other maids, I do not see their use such privileges."

My father whistled through his teeth and smiled. "Better not let your fair lady hear you say that... or any smart lass, for that matter."

The doors creaked and I sighed with relief at the intervention. The three other lords stood at single file and joined us at the table. First was Lord Harmon who entered the room with his usual eloquent and sophistication. As the Minister of Kingdom Affairs, the mouse that dressed himself in finery that put my mother to shame. He did his job well; he maintained good relations between the neighboring kingdoms and even kept the irksome Trielian nobles reined in.

Then strode in the Minister of Coin, Lord Francis, who was also dressed richly though he was in more muted colors that suited his greying age. Like Lord Harmon, he was a mouse left over from the old regime, back when Triel still had a stranglehold on Southsward's resources and court handlings. It was all mice at the time, but the aftermath brought back the old, traditional order from the Age of the Bells.

Then came the Minister of Resources, Lord Bryon. The vole was only about ten seasons my senior, though his eyes bore a look that suggested a rare kind of shrewdness and a gift for calculation. It was he who oversaw the guilds and kept them busy whether it be mining, farming, lumber, construction, and so on and so forth. From what I gathered, he had quite a nose for finding the richest veins of ores within the mountains. Like the others, he dressed in a fine, loose sleeved robe and a thin, silver circlet rested upon his brow.

The manner of which they entered suggested an exclusive group. From what I understand, the three of them were much more communicable amongst each other than with any of the other lords. My father always suggested that they liked to keep other beasts "out of the loop" to feed their own self-importance. Honestly, I think my father should be less judgmental. Lord Francis and the rest dealt with the softer, more political issues of the kingdom; it would only make sense that they would be more open to one another than with us.

After all, my father and I were militaristic nobles and "got our paws dirty" while we managed soldiers and battled degenerate criminals. Even our clothing was markedly different; while the other lords wore flowing robes of silk, my father and I were clothed in tighter garments more suited for battle.

But as much as my father viewed them with disdain, he was quick to exchange his previously carefree attitude for a more stoic expression when he addressed the other nobles. They responded with some warmth, but not too much that it should be deemed informal. "Lord Swalestrom" or "Skipper Galen," they called him.

"My lords," I addressed them with a bow of my head. As usual, they gave me a nod of approval, though they questioned me about my daughter and started giving me well wishes and suggestions and asking if I was interested in another and... Oh, Great Seasons, I was wondering if all of these agonizingly boring questions would ever end.

And then _he_ came.

"Hey, looks like everybeasts' beat me here," boomed a cheerful voice. General Dirk swept into the room with a smile and a wave for a greeting. I would have turned my back to him but the _other_ intruder in the room drew my attention.

Not since the days of Urgan Nagru had a vermin stepped into Castle Floret. And if that was not enough, his atrocious red fur held him apart from the rest of his hideous kind as if some bold statement. But did the sea otter say anything about such a breach of our customs? Hardly! He just carried on his way, grinning like a madbeast while the ferret followed along.

"What's with this, Dirk?" Though my father's tone was clearly that of familiarity, it was far from friendly.

"Him?" he shrugged and glanced over at the ferret. "He's just my bodyguard. Just ignore him." Easier said than done, I assure you. My father inhaled sharply and would have said a strong word against this measure had he not been interrupted.

"My lords," the herald boomed, "His Majesty, King Darian approaches!" We all took our bows and assembled ourselves by the round table, standing by our seats only until our king commanded us to sit.

King Darian was a young beast for a ruler, though I might say that he did well for himself despite the fact that his father left him with more ruin than wealth. King Gideon, rest his soul, had freed Southsward from the yoke of Triel, though it came with a heavy price. With the help of his advisers, one of which was my father, the young squirrelking was able to restore proper order to the kingdom.

We lords took our seat while the bodyguards stood behind their corresponding superiors. As rude as it was, I admit that I spent more time staring at the ferretguard across from me than my own king. I had only heard of this creature a few times, though I had always thought him a gross exaggeration. Fire Ferret, indeed.

"And who is this creature, general?" asked the squirrelking. The vermin practically jumped on the spot and performed a jerky bow before his fellow bodyguard (a hare) yanked him upright by his collar. I snickered inwardly at the spectacle while the great general of Sword stood up to answer.

"My bodyguard, Yer Highness."

His Majesty's eyes narrowed in thought while his claws drummed on the wooden armrest. "I was not aware that I had permitted vermin to enter my castle..." His tone carried great interest, though that was not a benefit in this context. A faint movement to my right indicated that my father had crossed his arms and leaned back. The general looked quite comfortable, though. There was little doubt that he had been planning some form of opposition.

"If my king would allow me to explain," Dirk began, "This is Asch Waycaster... I'm sure ya remember the Waycaster boy from eighteen seasons back?" There was a pause and the king merely blinked as a cue to continue.

"He may not have been born here, but Southsward is his home, Yer Grace. Vermin or not, I've seen him grow and his heart's as good as a woodlander's, through'n'through. He is training to be my bodyguard for the future and it says a lot of his character if I c'n trust my life to him."

His Highness gave the vermin another regarding look before glancing over at General Dirk. "And he is a capable fighter?"

The general smirked at that. "Have you heard of how one of my units killed a scorpion?" He jabbed a thumb behind him and at the red creature. "He's the one who did it."

"I see..." The squirrelking tapped a claw against his desktop as he studied the general's young charge. The vermin seemed to shrink under his gaze, as though he was a child caught red-pawed in some delinquent scheme. "Given what you say, I can tolerate him in my castle so long as the other lords will do the same." He looked expectantly at his advisers while they each forced a reply.

"I follow my king in this matter," said Lord Bryon.

"No objections," answered Lord Harmon.

Lord Francis hesitated but one look at General Dirk's smile made him uneasy enough to be agreeable. My lord father, on the other paw, could not be fazed.

"This boy?" my father scoffed. "This one's still wet behind the ears. Killed a scorpion, you say? Ha. I've eaten fish bigger'n him and I see no reason to see him as a threat."

"So you don't have a problem, Gale?" Dirk smirked.

"Not at all. I'm just a little insulted that you couldn't bring something a little more intimidating," my father replied. The insolence of the general, speaking to the Skipper of the Otterguard like that and pressing the council to bend to his will. Incorrigible! Vermin or not, threatening or not, I could not stand to be insulted by this wanton act of passive rebellion. Enough was enough and I hated that everybeast simply stood idly by while he trampled upon the council's reputation.

"Well I certainly do not wish him here," I muttered.

The council room ran quiet while I registered the fact that I had uttered the words with too much contempt to ignore. I glanced back to my right and saw my father's surprise, and then I looked across the table and at the general. His face remained neutral but his posture rigid. Finally, I turned to King Darian as he nodded in my direction.

"Speak," he commanded.

"Your Highness, my lords," I addressed, "I cannot condone the presence of a vermin within our council room. This is a place of great privilege and I refuse to allow our traditions to be tarnished and our standards sullied." King Darian chuckled and I did not know whether to relax or stammer an apology for my insolence.

"You speak the honest truth," he smiled. "Had my grandfather been on this throne, he would have agreed full-heartedly with your sentiments. However, my question was posed to my advisers alone. You are simply here as an observer... for the time being."

"Your Radiance..." I put a paw over my heart as a symbol of my earnest respect. "Your words are kind, though your question was posed to 'the other lords' and... I am in fact a lord."

My father gave me a warning look while the rest of the council seemed afraid to breathe. But King Darian was chuckling to himself all over again. I swallowed and told myself to maintain a state of reservation and calm.

"So you are, so you are," he said. "Lord Keetch Swalestrom, I am impressed and I admire your candor. Not many beasts dare to speak out against the vote of the rest of the council."

I closed my eyes with relief and bowed my head. "You flatter me, sire."

"Flattery and truth go paw and paw, it seems," he beamed. "So the ferret is dismissed from the council room..." He waved his own guards into motion with a few flicks of his wrist. The beasts opened the large double-doors and the vermin edged his way out with his tail tucked between his legs. The councilbeasts murmured amongst themselves while my father groaned a sigh of relief and disapproval.

"Too risky, Keetch," he said under his breath.

"I did what I thought was right."

"Wish you would leave the talking part t'me. I feel some pity for that ferret, though. Awful awkward for him, I guess."

"That much was just as much General Dirk's doing."

I flicked my gaze in the sea otter's direction. He was neither flustered nor disappointed by the outcome of my actions. He simply had his arms crossed over his chest while he studied me. It seemed to me that I had earned his scorn. Well, I was more than happy for that; it was high time he had begun to take me seriously.

* * *

**A/N: I must apologize on behalf of Miss TeaLeaf for her delay in replying to your reviews. I understand that she was busy with her Fundamentals of Engineering eight-hour exam, though she became extremely slothful after she finished it. A "Netflix Adventure," she called it. Again, I apologize for her behavior.**

**After her disregard of writer-to-reader gratitude, I truly do not expect you to review. If you do, I suppose that it is up to me to send replies to you.**

**Thank you for reading.**


	18. Yield

**A/N: Special thanks to those who reviewed since the previous chapter- Airan's Enigma **(who is great to have back), **Free Thought **(very loyal and fun reviewer), **Saraa Luna **(who I have neglected for a while... sorries :( ), **ferretWARLORD **(who has very passionate reviews :P ), **Quaver Ava **(who is finally all caught up ;) ), and **Professor-Evans **(who always asks good questions).

**Still neglecting Review Replies but I'm just at the Finish Line. So close... to graduation... must... make... it...**

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**Yield**  
Asch Waycaster

_"Do you really think it is weakness that yields to temptation? I tell you there are terrible temptations which require strength, strength and courage to yield to." _- Oscar Wilde

* * *

Well, everything wasn't goin' as planned. I had a bad feelin' about this the second the general gave the orders. A vermin in Castle Floret! It was a terrible idea but I guess it could'a worked if that last lord didn't speak up. Ripped me up and ground me into the dirt, he did.

I stood across the council room entrance and from the four guards that took charge of those doors. They stared forward and stood upright'n'straight as their spears. They were all serious and I was afraid to break the silence with any stupid questions. All I could do was stand awkwardly in front of them and try to look as non-threatening as possible. The general was probably in hot water thanks t'me.

A giggle erupted and echoed from the far end of the hall. The guards snapped even straighter (if that was even possible) and I followed their example. From the corner of my eyes, I watched as a group of girls approached. I noticed that three of them were dressed like nobles and did most of the talkin' amongst themselves; the rest of them were just a bunch of pawmaids. The closer they came, the more I noticed the cold warning glances that the guards threw my way.

When the two maidens came to view, I felt my mouth go dry. Princess Sinna and Princess Rinnoa, daughters of King Darian. Not a hair out of place and decked with the most beautiful gowns and jewelry. You could just feel the royalty just flowing out o' them. Even the way they talked seemed so... royal. But what grabbed my attention was the fine-dressed ottermaid that walked between them. I nearly choked on my own luck.

Lady Corinne.

I made for a quick bow but the guards didn't give a single break in their positions. I did a little sweep o' my arm before I changed m'mind and did as the soldiers did. Still as stone, I held my breath; and for a second, I thought she was gonna pass me by. The two princesses did, and they swerved to the side and hushed their talkin' as they came within an earshot o' me. But Lady Corinne stopped between the guards and I, looked me over, and asked them, "Guards, what is a ferret doing here?"

She didn't spit the phrase like I was some kind o' disease. She just asked. Simple as y'like.

"One of General Dirk's bodyguards, my lady," a vole answered with a short bow.

She turned back to look at me. "Oh? Is the good general here today?"

"Yes," a squirrel answered for me, also doin' the bow. "On official business, my lady."

"The council, is it?" The ottermaid was still facing my direction, studying me as she continued. I prayed she wouldn't see any likeness of Oriel in me. The Edgewise Knight was a hero and the ferret standing before her was... something else.

"Yes, my lady," said another one of the guards. The small space between me and the nobles was making everybeast nervous- me most of all.

"Corinne, we shall be late," urged a fidgety princess.

"In a minute, Your Highness." Then she turned her attention back to me. "And why are you out here? Aren't you supposed to be guarding General Dirk Tillwaters?"

I copied the guards' half bow as I answered her. "I'm 'fraid I was told to leave the room, m'lady."

She moved her lips but stopped as understanding clicked in her mind. "Well, as his bodyguard, you must work very closely with the general, don't you?"

I bowed again. "Yes, ma'am- I mean, m'lady."

"You don't need to bow every time you say something," she giggled. It was supposed to be a reassuring kind of chuckle but the tiny correction made my cheeks burn like a fever.

"My lady?" The eldest pawmaid reached over and wrapped a paw 'round the ottermaid's elbow. "My lady, it is not befitting of you to linger here." I didn't say or do anything as Lady Corinne let herself be ushered back into her original group. From the looks of it, Lady Corinne was in Castle Floret as a guest and friend of the princesses. It would make sense. Her entire family was in the social circle, after all.

"Just take care of the general for me?" she smiled. "He means a lot to me. He really does."

I called after her with a loud "I will" before clamping my mouth shut. The guards' eyes narrowed at my volume and I wondered if everybeast in the castle heard me. It was not until she was out of sight before I could finally release my breath. She was even more lovely up close.

* * *

I continued to stand out in the hall for a good while longer. The guards switched shifts and I stayed where I was. Nobeast told me to move or to do anything at all. When the servants carried trays of food into the council room, my stomach rumbled and I ached to at least help them in the chore or _something_. But naw. I just stayed put like a living statue.

It was times like that where I desperately needed a good book.

"Excuse me, sir?"

I nearly jumped out of my fur. A quick whirl to my left showed a young ottermaid with a small, bronze tray of food.

"M'lady." I bowed quickly while she wrinkled her nose and gave a flat reply.

"I'm a pawmaid, actually. Lady Corinne's pawmaid."

The guards snickered openly and it took physical effort to keep my head from sinking below my shoulders. Well, she was young and she was really pretty... so it made a bit of sense that I'd mistake her for a lady, jewelry or not. But I guess that everything in a palace (including pawmaids) had t' look beautiful. The ottermaid shifted uncomfortably and lifted the tray up t' the level of my chest.

"My lady insists that you eat somethin'," she said to me. I was speechless and the guards' jaws dropped an inch.

"Take it." Her order didn't have the choppy tone of a hidden threat, but I obeyed anyways. The porcelain, fine cutlery, and glass chinked and trembled at the exchange of paws. A few days ago, I was dreamin' of seeing such things, but at that moment I didn't want anything to do with 'em.

"Lady Corinne insists that you try the lobster stew. She hopes that you're fond of salad and blueberry tart as well."

"Lady Corinne sent this?"

The ottermaid gave me an impatient glance and replied, "She insisted that you keep up your strength. You'd be useless to the general if you fainted of starvation."

"Oh."

Her eyes softened a little as she looked around the hall, her eyes probably scanning for furniture while her mind registered that I had been standing in the silence for the entire day. Was it the entire day? It was probably two hours but it felt like all eternity.

"She wishes that she could send you somewhere furnished to eat, but it is not her place to make such arrangements in another's castle."

I mumbled some kind of awkward "thank you" to the absent lady. I'm not exactly sure what I said, but I'm sure it wasn't even adequate or proper or anythin'. The maid merely curtsied and turned to leave.

I nearly jumped at my forgetfulness. "And thank you, Miss..."

"Bree," she said over her shoulder with barely a slow in pace. And with that, she'd whisked herself away to some other chore.

So there I was... sitting on the floor of the royal castle and outside the room that held the king. The guards and their eyes bore down on me from the other wall as I laid the tray over top my cross-legged knees. My claws fumbled over the napkin and the silverware chimed like bells in the halls. I winced at every single sound I made. It just seemed to intrude the peace and tranquility of the castle.

I hesitated to open the first of the three trays. Her ladyship was very kind and I hated to accept her gift. But at the same time, it would have been an insult to refuse a noblebeast. At least, that's what I gathered from the books and plays. And if I didn't hurry, King Darian and The Five would walk through those huge doors to see me eating on the floor, awkward as can be.

I cringed to think about what the general would say t'me... And if it was even possible, that younger otter lord would probably be worse. I mean, the littler Lord Swalestrom had the same glare as the general's and the way he talked made beasts feel all inadequate.

My stomach grumbled when I cracked open the lid. First on my list was some crisp salad, as green as a landlubber's face on a boat. Not the best way to describe it, but it was delicious all the same. Not even the tiniest dot of wilt on any leaf. I offered some of the breadrolls to the guards, but they turned up their noses at my offer. Well, I was hoping they would do that. More for me that way.

Then came the best course- lobster stew in its petite little bowl. Never had it before, but I heard it was a taste of heaven. I dipped my spoon in the creamy white liquid and lifted it to my lips.

I nearly gagged.

Something about it tasted sour- like unripe pears dipped in pickles dipped in vinegar dipped in who-knows-what. Tears sprang in my eyes and I forced myself to swallow the horrible concoction. There was no telling what the penalty was for spitting on the royal castle's royal floor... Gallows, maybe? Anyways, I nabbed the goblet of elderberry juice and nearly drained it in one swill. It was enough to wash out the Fates-awful taste but I sure wasn't going to try that thing again.

Once the goblet was empty, I lifted the edge of the cup away from my snout and that's when I saw the note.

My eyes almost didn't believe it at first. There, stuck to the lip of the cup was a piece of parchment that read: _Do you know the Edgewise Knight? I need to see him. If yes, fold napkin and put under goblet when finished. Discretion appreciated._

I didn't know what to say. In fact, I couldn't say anything. I acted natural and dug in to a blueberry tart while the guards cast me quizzical looks. The joy of the dessert was lost on me while my mind boiled over the details.

General Dirk told me that Lady Corinne begged him for help with the whole engagement affair. She needed a champion, she knew that the general had a lot of fighters, and he gave me to her cause. Oriel the Edgewise Knight was the point of gossip in all of Floret. Cut into a handsome, roguish, strong figure, it was no wonder that she wanted to see him. If she had asked General Dirk for a meeting with him, the general would have disappointed her. But she knew that somebeast close to the sea otter would know about her precious knight... somebeast like a bodyguard.

And for me, a lone and rejected figure in the same castle as her, this was her best opportunity. A charitable offering and a bit of tainted food, I was guaranteed to go for the carefully-placed goblet and see the note. It all made sense now. The defenseless lady otter was not quite so defenseless after all. Should have figured that much. She got General Dirk to act behind her father's back, after all.

I clenched the napkin in my paws. She wanted Oriel. She wanted to see me in a fake otter form where every word and gesture came with a lie. Whether or not she knew it, anything of feeling between us was an abomination. Different species and different classes. That, and the general would never allow it. He ordered me not to tell anybeast 'bout Oriel.

... _But_ her ladyship already knew about him. She could meet him, but Oriel didn't have t' say anything about himself. And this was all assumin' that she would actually meet him face to face. How was that even possible? With her being surrounded by guards and General Dirk disapproving things, how was meeting her in person gonna happen anyways? She probably wanted an exchange of notes or something. Nothing horrible there.

My interest was piqued. What was the harm anyways?

With sure paws, I folded the napkin and placed it underneath the goblet. Bree came back a short while after and I saw her eyes linger at the placement of my tray. She moved her paws out from under her apron and I noticed that her right paw was loosely wrapped in a bandage.

"Pardon me," she said loud enough for the guards to hear. "I burnt m'self by a stove, you see. Terribly, terribly sorry, but I need both paws to deliver the tray back to the kitchens. I apologize, sir." Her words trembled and her eyes looked all watery and downcast. I felt a pang of sympathy but caught myself. Her ladyship was full of surprises.

"It's alright," I enunciated. Every word suddenly felt wrong to me.

"I hate to bother you," Bree began with her wavering voice. A young pretty thing like her, the guards probably bit the bait. "But Lady Corinne has no power over the servants in Castle Floret and it would be ill fitting of her t-to ask her hosts to tend to a ver- Swordbeast. She only has me as her personal maid, sir. If it wouldn't bother ye, would you mind carrying your tray to the kitchens while I escort you? It would only take a moment."

"Not at all," I shrugged.

"Oh thank you," said Bree with a curtsy. I trailed after her, leaving the guards all puzzled. If the general's meeting finished before I got back, I'm sure that the sea otter would have a few choice questions.

"Did you enjoy your meal?" Bree asked in a low tone.

"Yes" was my jerky reply. "Thank you."

"I should hope you did," she huffed. "It came straight off of her ladyship's tray." My jaw nearly dropped into the floor.

"W-what?"

"This ain't Castle Terrace," she sniffed. "She has no power at all in Castle Floret to whip up some extra food. Didn't I already make that clear?"

I mumbled a quick apology and pursed my lips.

"My lady wants you to give a message to Oriel," Bree whispered. "Can you swear an oath, sir? Promise not to betray Her Ladyship?" Her eyes darted here and there for a passerby and I found myself with second thoughts. This was against all the rules, but to see Lady Corinne smile and thank me again was a rare thing.

It came right down to this one fact: I was the only one that could help her. It was Oriel who kept her freedom and it was Asch that kept her secrets. If she spoke to any other beast besides me, nothin' good would come out of it. It was Fate that I fought for her and it was Luck that brought her to me in this lonely castle. Whatever mischief this would get me into, it was just harmless communication.

"Y-yes," I croaked.

"She wishes to meet him in person at night in Southward Square."

"In _person_?" I nearly dropped the tray.

"Yes," she hissed, clenching her paws as we walked down a flight of stairs. "And you swore an oath of secrecy, sir. Now tell him that she wishes to meet him. What day and time, is his choosing. She will make her own accommodations and meet him then."

"What if he doesn't wish to see her?"

"Then he's an ungrateful ingrate." The harshness of her tone made me wince. "He should be honored by her summon, as unconventional as it may be."

"Well then, I must say that he wishes to meet her." The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. Even if I could, I would have only thought on it for a second before giving in anyways.

For the first time, she glanced back in my direction. "You are saying that you, a ferret, would know so well of this mysterious otter?"

"Swordsbeasts are brothers regardless of our circumstances of birth or creed," I recited. "I know Oriel more than anybeast else."

The ottermaid turned to face forward again and nodded a curt greeting at the growing passerbys. The beasts gave me curious looks but they carried on without question, rushing back and forth. We were probably close to our destination, which meant that I didn't have much more time. We'd been walking slowly to keep the conversation going, but the beasts interrupted things with their presence and we couldn't slow down any more if we wanted to make our situation look convincing.

"How do I know you speak the truth?" she asked when the way was clear.

I opened my mouth t' reply, but a whole gaggle of servants went zipping about the halls in a frenzy as they yelled orders and passed along bowls and trays and crates. From fluffy loaves of bread, to spotless fruit, to humungous fish, the castle had everything.

My mind cleared with the halls and I found the time to say one last thing to Bree. "Tell her ladyship that he will be fighting for her in the arena in a week. Tell her that he will give her a gift and that it bears a message." There must have been a seriousness in my eyes because for once, the ottermaid didn't look at me with disbelievin' eyes or scorn.

"Can't have you so close to the kitchens," she said coolly as she lifted the tray from my paws. "It would make the servants more nervous than they already are. I can take it from here. Do you know the way back?"

I nodded and she whisked herself away to do the rest of her duties. I left for my starting point and navigated through the hallways, asking for directions every now and then and getting frightened looks. Even as I constantly explained the fake predicament between Bree and I, they didn't seem all that convinced. Awkward and bumbling, like a lame messenger pigeon, I managed t' find my way back to the council room doors.

What was I thinkin'? Sending Lady Corinne a message? How in Gates was I gonna give her anything? Just wrap a note over a rock and chuck it at her face?! I stressed over the details, wringing my paws while my conscience tried t'kill me. Everything that I was doing could land us both in a wad of trouble. But try as I might, I couldn't talk m'self wanting to see her. It made no sense. I was a ferret. Pure and simple. What was I gonna gain by spending time with Lady Corinne?

I looked to the council room doors and thought of a way to deal with the burden. If the doors opened by the time I counted to ten, Fate wanted me to meet her. If it didn't, I should keep my nose out of trouble. I stared at those huge oaken barriers and began.

_One... two... three..._

The doors didn't budge.

_Four... ... Five... ..._

I swallowed and mentally begged the lords t'finish up already.

_Six... ... Sev... en... ... Eight._

_Nine... ... ... ..._

It was a stupid thing, but my heart was pulsing and plummeting at the same time.

_... ... Ten._

That was it then.

But who in Hellgates makes decisions by countin' or flipping coins?! Kooks, old ladies, and madbeasts- that's who. Fates or not, I at least wanted to meet with her. Just once. Just yield to the fantasy just a little, just once.

The doors opened and I jumped to attention. A guard stamped the butt of his spear against the ground as the procession of highborns exited the room.

The first to leave was Squirrelking Darian and everybeast in the hall made sure to give a big bow to him as he strode past. I rose from my position just as the lords started trickling out of the room. There were two lord mice and and a noble vole that waltzed right past me with their guards, and then both of the Swalestrom lords walked side by side while their four bodyguards trailed behind them.

They would have passed right on by, but Lord Galen's son stopped to say something. He folded his paws behind his back and looked me as if I was some brat caught sleeping during classtime.

"I thought you were to wait outside Castle Floret?"

I bowed again and wondered how many times an average beast was supposed to do that in a castle. It wouldn't surprise me if somebeast got a bad back because of it.

"M'lord, I-"

"Oh just leave it, Keetch," his father interrupted. "King Darian walked right past and didn't even care. It's his castle." I would've breathed a sigh of relief, but younger otter would've probably scolded me for "improper breathin'"... if there actually was such a thing. The general came in clear view behind them and I saw Lord Keetch's eyes dart sideways before he clicked his tongue and cleared his throat.

"Very well," he said loud enough for the general to hear. "I understand that you, ferret, were not in charge of your actions today. Your placement within the royal castle was no doubt an order of a negligent commander than it was of your own choosing. Therefore, I would say that it was no fault of yours that you were expelled from the Grand Council Room. Nothing personal, I assure you. The law is simply the law, I hope you understand."

Nothing personal, my foot!

I didn't think. My left paw strayed to the side of my face, earnin' me a short-lived quizzical look from the younger lord. I caught what I was doing and pulled my arm back down. When beasts are nervous, they rub their nose or fiddle with their ears. But me, I touch my cheek during confrontations. I kept my eyes downcast and the two lords, satisfied with my response, walked away with their guards in tow, leaving me with General Dirk and Forsie.

"Hmph! The nerve of him," the hare seethed.

The sea otter shrugged and sighed. "Well Asch, that was the closest to an apology that Lord Keetch is ever gonna to give. Might as well just take it."

"Bounders! The coins I would pay to slap his face around with a cold fish," Forsie muttered. Down as I was, the picture in my mind nearly busted my gut.

"Can't joke about that here," Dirk warned him, though he was smirking when he said it. Then the general turned his attention back to me and his shoulders sagged a little. "Pushed my luck a tad too far, lad. I'm sorry that I got you in this mess."

"Sorry for _him_?" Forsie sulked. "It was as fun as watching paint dry! Always is! Just more talk about money and taxes. And I couldn't eat any tuck while I was at it!"

Well, that was one of us, anyways.

* * *

**A/N: Asch here. You know what I'm wonderin'? Why does Jade always call these bottom segments an "Author Note" when she doesn't even write 'em? It should be called "Character Notes."**

**First thing's first. I gotta thank you for reading this story so far. It gets kinda slow at times... actually, it's kinda stuck in a bog as far as action goes. But it will pick up in the next few chapters. Thanks for stickin' around. Jade and the other characters and I really appreciate it.**

**Miria: Speak for yourself!  
Lord Keetch: *looks up from a parchment* Hm? I beg your pardon?**

**Ignore 'em. And they wonder why they don't have that many fans or admirers. Huh. **

**And to answer Professor-Evans's question, the hatred for vermin is something they pick up when they grow older. I don't really blame 'em much. The Juska and other wild vermin are an awful lot who've caused suffering and countless deaths.**

**Please remember to review this chapter and I promise that Jade will review promptly this time. By the time you've read this, she has probably finished her last exam. :)**


	19. Intermission II

**A/N: Special thanks to those who reviewed since the last update- Saraa Luna, Free Thought, Professor-Evans, Cap'n Tassie, lectoboy, and ferretWARLORD. You guys rock! :)**

**And to answer some questions, Bree (from Chapter 18: Yield) was never introduced before that chapter. She is just a simple pawmaid to Lady Corinne. Also, you will find out what Sword does to pregnant vermin eventually. I don't want to mention it in author notes because it kind of abuses the system. I want readers to understand the meat of the story and inner workings without having to refer to A/N's all the time. If an author has to explain things to confused readers all the time, then it means that the author isn't doing his/her job. Sorry, but you'll have to wait to find out their fate. :( Give it 3-4 chapters, though.**

**Now, we get an introduction to a new character and an explanation of darker motives. Also, a reference to the book Mariel of Redwall here. Enjoy. :)**

* * *

**Intermission II**

_"Some men think because they are afraid to do."_ - A Feast for Crows by George R.R. Martin

* * *

_A journey's road you soon shall find,  
upon the bricks that the North had laid.  
Keep your wits about you, mind,  
when you come across the wild shore's maid._

"Martin!" the otter shouted at the tapestry. "Martin, I've heard this a thousand times! Where is she? What's happening?"

_Come peril, come strife  
Come the will to end one's life._

_Lift my sword, speak of heart._  
_Only when the signal calls_  
_must you break out the Southern chart._  
_'member this when the maid of the wild shore finds our walls._

The cold shocked through his body as water flooded his nostrils. Rallbrook pedaled himself up to the light and took a roaring gulp of air the second he breached the river's surface.

"Oy! Rall! Some watchbeast you turned out t'be," a shrew called from the safety of the riverboat. "Next time I catch you sleeping on the job, you c'n swim back to Redwall, you ruddy riverdog!"

Rall grinned and slapped some water in the chieftain's direction. "Yeah? Well _next time_, a poke instead of a kick to me rump would be a good enough reminder. 'Sides, I was only dozing."

"Aye, and drooling enough water t'flood us all down."

"Wasn't!"

The shrew laughed as he helped the otter back onto the undersized longboat. Just the weight of him on the edge threatened to capsize the five other shrews.

"Anyways," another shrew chuckled as he waved the other longboats to one side of the riverbank, "we're practically at our stop. Can't miss the wedding now."

The young otter wrung his shirt dry, careful to expel the water into the river instead of the boat. "I'm gonna get an earful from my mum again, aren't I?"

"She's only worried 'bout her eldest baby leavin' the nest," joked another Guosim shrew as he began unloading the boats' cargo.

"Been gone for nearly two months and you don't think she'd fuss?" said a second.

"_Baby?_ Puh! I'm old enough t' travel the world."

Chief Finlo paused from his work to mock the otter further. "Yeah! Be sure t' tell her that. But in any rates, you'd best hurry ahead of us, Rall. Your mother'd hang my tail on the ramparts if she found me holdin' you back."

"The boat ride sped my time up more'n a bit of unloading would give me," the otter argued good-heartedly.

"Aye, it was good luck that you ran into us, but we don't need your clumsy paws doing our chores," scoffed one of the twenty or so shrews.

"He'd be more of a mess than help," another guffawed.

"They need him at Redwall as soon as possible, y'know. He's supposed to help model the dress."

"Hey!" Rall smirked at the last comment.

"Off you go." The shrew chieftain pat the otter on the back as high as his height would allow. "Don't trouble yourself a bit. Just give your mother my regards and we'll call that even payment."

"You sure?"

"Sure as sure can be!"

The young otter hefted his rucksack over a shoulder and shook paws with the creature. "If you say so. I'll tell my mother to set out a hot tray of apple turnovers for ya. How's that sound?"

Finlo chuckled at that. "Just get outta here a'fore all your talk makes us die of starvation."

"Alright, alright." Rall walked away from the bank and waved a salute to his fellow waterbeasts. "Thank ye for the ride, friends! I'll see you in Redwall!"

The crowd imparted their farewells in unison, though they promptly got back to unpacking. With that, the otter left to embark on the final leg of his homeward journey.

* * *

Rall was surprised by the bubbling activity of the abbey. He expected this kind of thing, but he was still surprised all the same. Well, it was the wedding of the abbess's son and a season's feast all wrapped in one. The river otter sidestepped a family of rabbits as the crowd squeezed themselves through the massive doors, each of them carrying some luggage and a wedding gift (be it furniture or food). For all intents and purposes, Rall prayed for the latter.

Upon entering, he nearly got swept away by the sea of busy creatures. Beasts were setting up the tables, cooks were counting the pastries and candied chestnuts (and recounting every time a Dibbun passed), maids were fixing flowers and ribbons onto every nook and cranny, children were weaving between legs and pillars, and guests were settling themselves within the abbey dormitories.

He'd grown up in Redwall, but that didn't seem to help him while he navigated through the chaos. Every three steps, a Dibbun crashed against his legs before bounding off. Every five, and he bumped into another creature that had more important things to do than chat. And every ten, somebeast stampeded over his rudder.

It took forever and a day to reach his old room, but he'd finally done it. The otter unloaded his rucksack from his shoulders and collapsed on the bed. How good it was to be home. After traveling all over Mossflower, there was nothing quite like being back in his own bed. He sighed with relief, stretching over the mattress as he relished the feeling of clean linen. He had to appreciate the peace and quiet while he could, anyways. Sooner or later, he'd have to face his mother. That, and the many beasts that pestered him to take up Martin's sword.

"But there's no need," he had told them time and time again. The beasts would grumble at his response and lumber off to do chores or complain to an open ear. But whatever their feelings, they could never force a beast to take up arms. Besides, Martin only told him to take the sword when he found _the_ maiden and as far as the otter had looked, there was no sign of her.

She was bound to show up at Redwall sooner or later, but Rall had grown restless. Perhaps it would be something like Mariel Gullwhacker. Washed up and disoriented on the beach, she'd be completely defenseless. Mariel managed to find her way to the redstone refuge, but any lesser beast would be a goner. _Maid of the wild shore..._ It sounded like another Mariel. Staring up at the ceiling, Rall couldn't help but wonder if his maid was stranded on some stormy beach.

The door flung open with a jarring clatter that made him fall out of bed.

"Rall! There you are!" Abbess Jolin strode in and swept him up in a tight hug. "You finally have time to come home, do you?"

"Yeah, yeah," he sighed. In public or not, it was all still embarrassing for a full-grown otter to show a tender side towards his mother.

"That's all you can say?" she scoffed playfully as she gave him a wet kiss on his cheek, much to his chagrin. "Look at you! Even more grown up. You might end up as tall as your father."

"I already am," he insisted. "And I was only gone for two months! Hardly any time's passed at all."

"Yes, yes," she laughed. Greying or not, she still behaved like a girl in the spring. "Now what adventures have you been up to, you scamp?"

"Visited Salamandastron," he replied with a carefree shrug.

"Again?" There was hardly a trace of admiration in her voice. "Well did you find what you were looking for or not?"

"Not yet," he groaned. Five seasons of searching and he still couldn't get it. But whatever dismay his features held, he replaced it with a cheerful smile fit to set a room aglow. "Shouldn't be long now. Martin's never wrong, y'know."

"Yes," Jolin said with an exasperated sigh. "But Martin also told me in a dream that you should hurry up and be more like your brother and get married."

"Stop teasing." Even as a joke, there was some seriousness in those two words.

"Alright, alright," she chuckled. "But in all honesty, you should stop running around and chasing this dream. This 'maid of the wild shores' that Martin talks about will show her face in her own time. Settle down and build yourself a home. The sooner you do, the more grey fur you spare me."

"Sorry, Ma. Can't do it. Not until I find her. Martin has great things planned for me, I know it. All I have to do is find her."

"Well if you do, could you propose to her on the spot?" she chirped. "A faster marriage means more grandchildren."

"Assuming she's an otter, I'll try," he chuckled. "But now I have to find Conway and talk about getting myself measured for finer clothes. He keeps on talking about having a simple life, so you'd think the wedding ceremony could be a little _simpler_." He made to rush to the door but his mother barred the passageway.

"As abbess of Redwall, I order you to come here and give me a proper hug." The otter rolled his eyes and did as he was told, eying the door in case somebeast barged in. She gave him a tight squeeze that lasted a good second too long before patting on his back.

"It's good to have you back," she said. She inhaled deeply for a moment before jerking her head back as if he'd said something offensive. "And what is that _smell_? Rallbrook, when was the last time you took a bath?"

* * *

In contrast to the usual merriment of Redwall Abbey, Southsward was vastly different in mood.

The Watcher trembled before his commander as the sea otter paced the floor. Under the obscurity of night shadows and his dark cloak, the creature was barely visible except for the glistening white of his bandage. His upper arm had been torn and bloody in his past mission. It was only by a dagger and sheer luck that he'd ever gotten back home at all. The same could not be said for the Sparra.

"So King Garmund knows 'bout the extra patrols?" the general intoned. The squirrel nodded and clutched his wounded arm to himself.

"Hm..." General Dirk drummed his claws against his bureau. "With every passing month, war draws nearer."

"They're waiting for Lady Corinne," the squirrel squeaked.

"Already a step ahead of them," the otter smiled grimly. "I've got my best beast on that job."

"Speakin' o' which..."

The squirrel jumped at the intruding voice while the otter kept a bored expression on his face. A long-limbed shadow slithered out from the rafters and slipped down from the wall and down to the floor. His entrance was silent and his movements smooth as water.

Though old, the shrouded beast was still darker than he was grey. His ears were pointed and stood on alert at all times, ready to pick the smallest trace of a whisper. And then there were his eyes- shining, watery things that held a ruthless kind of determination that rivaled even his agility.

"_That's_ how y'sneak, tree-rat," the newcomer growled. The squirrel bowed his head in respect to his mentor. Though he had been preparing for his line of work for his entire life, he was still only a novice compared to the creature that stood before him.

"Speakin' o' which..." The Shade turned to the commanding otter. "We both know a good way to get rid o' the war. We gotta kill him."

The general's brows perked. "King Garmund?"

"No!" the creature sputtered, sweeping his bushy tail with agitation. "I'm talking about the-"

The otter's eyes narrowed into slits. "We've talked it over before. The answer's still no."

"You know the prophecy. I _heard_ it from the-"

"Nobody touches him," the otter snarled, hackles bristling and shoulders squared. The sudden ferocity had the squirrel skittering backwards, but the shadowy figure only seemed nonplussed.

"Nobody touches him," Dirk repeated in a softer tone, though not an ounce less authoritative.

Everything stayed in the otter's challenging silence as the beasts waited for a proper cue to speak. The general's eyes locked onto The Watcher and the injured squirrel shriveled under his gaze. The grim expression calmed within a second, but it still held firm. Finally, Dirk's eyes softened into disdain while he waved the pathetic creature out of his sights.

"Go get that looked after, Arvyl," he scowled. "And don't get that wretched arm of yours an infection. Who knows what diseases those Sparra have in the west." The squirrel returned the dismissal with a zealous nod and zipped out the doors.

The two elders waited until he was clear of the stairs before they spoke together in hushed conversations.

"Talking about the Taggerung prophecy in front of _Arvyl?_" the general growled. "He's only a boy. If you aren't careful, I might have t'slice off your tongue."

"That bushtail is no better'n I was when I was five," huffed the cloaked figure. "Prime or not, you still need me around, and don't yew forget it."

"Just get t'the point," Dirk scoffed, leaning against his desk while he crossed his arms. "And quit all that talk about killing Asch."

"Should'a just let the fires turn him to crisp," he replied under his breath.

"Prophecy or not, he's still valuable."

"I heard it with both m'ears," said The Shade in a low tone, eyes constantly darting to the horizontal line of light beneath the doors. "Just 'cause I heard it a decade ago doesn't mean it ain't gonna happen. All that nonsense about him hearing his 'truth' and the two kingdoms clashin' again. That's us and Triel, all right. He'll bring all Hellgates and destruction on our heads, yew mark my w-"

The creature jolted at the impact of a fist crashing into a desk.

"That... is _enough_," Dirk whispered, his volume barely contained. Volumes lay cluttered on the floor while the remainder slowly fluttered down into a graceless heap. It was only a miracle that the desk was still in once piece.

"Slitting his throat won't change anything," the otter insisted, gripping the edge of his bureau as if to hold him back from pummeling The Shade to a pulp. "If I know prophecies, I know they're tricky things and Asch wouldn't-"

"You've been hidin' him from the truth for his entire life," the creature countered. "You think it's all gonna be spring and daisies with him? That he'll _cry_ and give hugs once he-"

"Stop."

"-figures everythin' out? When he figures out that you were-

"I said _shut up_."

"-the one that put the little hellspawn in the middle of a bloody desert?"

Dirk jut his chin out and stabbed a claw in the air. "Liar! You little-"

"Oh," chuckled The Shade. "But it's all good. Secret's all locked up and safe. We've kept the Juska brats in separate settlements and we've been careful 'bout who we let into the fort... Oh," he shrugged carelessly, "except for that Juska vixen."

Dirk shook the table in a violent surge that made the floor clatter beneath their paws. "You _DON'T KNOW _that!" he thundered. The words seemed to echo around, and both creatures stood stock still as they waited for a dreaded sign that somebeast had heard the outburst. A lit lamp, a questioning call, something.

Nothing came.

Commander and spy shared a moment's relief as they let their hackles lie flat against their necks.

"Wouldn't be the first time your beasts thought y'were talkin' to yourself," the creature mumbled.

"Heh." The sound was halfway between a chuckle and a snort. "Old enough t'be a grandfather now. Losing my good looks to Father Time, i' makes sense I'd start t'lose my mind too."

"Sometimes I think you've already lost it," said The Shade. Dirk said nothing and did nothing. His paws were fixed around the edge of the desk and his arms held straight, locked into position as though he was burdened by some great weight on his shoulders.

"Hey."

The sound of the spy's voice snapped the spell. The sea otter's posture melted and the commander slumped forward.

"You do not touch him. Not a whisker," was his order.

"But-"

The otter held up a paw for silence and looked The Shade dead in the eyes. "It's _my_ time to say my bit," he said softly. "Asch _will_ find out. Eventually. But I am doing everythin' I can to delay things until we're ready. His realization or awakening or whatever those prophet kooks call it- it don't mean he starts the war. All it _does_ mean is that it's just a signal for a very bad war..." He licked his lips as he leaned closer. "And a war can start with or without a signal. Kill him for all you like, but it won't stop anything."

The Shade cursed under his breath and paced a circle.

"What?" Dirk scoffed. "You know all those damn birds that tweet just afore dawn? Do you think that if we kill all those featherballs, the sun won't shine at its usual time? We can still use him. He might be the one that wins it for us. He won't like that we kept this from him, but he won't turn on us. He doesn't have it in 'im to kill an innocent. Hell! I've never even seen him kill. Blubbered all over the place when he thought he'd killed a damned bird, for Fate's sake."

"Then what do we do?" asked his confidante. "How much longer do we need? Because Triel looks just 'bout ready t'go. All they need is that Corinne girl and-"

"We stick to the plan," said the commander. He bent down and scooped his felled books from the floor and dumped them back onto the center of his desk. "Asch will take care of that end and we'll figure out a way to keep him in the dark."

"Just lock him up," he grunted.

"What?"

"Put him in prison for a while. No visits, no books, no nothing. Can't learn anythin' that way."

"No, no," he sighed.

"Oooooh, right." The Shade's voice dripped with sarcasm. "It makes too much sense t'work."

"And who's gonna protect Lady Corinne?"

"Let him out once a month t'deal with the business of it," he answered with a snap of his claws.

Dirk shook his head. "'Can't be that simple."

"He'd do it if you told him to."

"He won't understand and he'll run off if we set him loose in a tournament."

"You are the _commander_," The Shade stressed. "_Command _him!"

Dirk struck the air with a paw. "He won't listen on blind faith!" he snarled.

"What a bunch o' crock!"

In one quick lunge, the burly sea otter had the creature by the collar of his shirt as he pulled him close enough for their noses to touch. "Last warning. Talk about him again and you'll be pickin' your teeth off the floor." He released him with a disgruntled shove. "Got that?"

"Sure." The servant looked down in submission while he brushed imaginary dirt off his clothes. "So... do you want me to kill King Garmund while you're off playing nanny to a vermin?"

"I'll have t'think about it."

"Right, 'cause you don't want _another_ king's life on your conscience."

But Dirk turned his back and waved off the insult with wild, impatient flaps of his arm as if the spy was a stench that could be gusted away. "Just go do more of skulking, you miserable creature. And be careful in Triel. Arvyl's bungle with the Sparra will have their security tightened."

"Alrigh' alrigh'," the creature sighed. "I'll be back later, same as always."

"Right." The general turned around. "And while y-"

He was gone.

All that was left of a trace was a window left ajar and a curtain that billowed in the chilled night breeze. The general shivered and pushed shutters back in place, closing himself off from the troubles of the world.

* * *

**C/N...**

**Asch: Hey guys! Thanks for showing up for yet another installment of The Blood Between Us. So... Miria, Lord Keetch, and I were discussing our reviews and we started wondering who your favorite POV is.**

**Miria: So to get you lazy sods to tell these cretins that I'm yer favorite, we have set up a _contest_.**

**Lord Keetch: The point system goes as such- ahem! One full point for a declaration of favor within a review, half a point for a vote on the poll located on Miss TeaLeaf's profile. You can vote for different characters in each method. For example, you could mention me as a favorite within your review but side with Asch in the polls (assuming the miniscule chance that his approval rivals mine). This, of course, is to accommodate those of you who have two relatively close favorites.**

**Miria: So why vote, you ask? Cripes, you cheap bastards do anythin' for free, do ya? Well, because the winner will post a special segment on The Memories that Make Us, which is Jade's companion fic to The Blood Between Us.**

**Asch: If I get the most points, I guess I'll post a chapter on the first time I got in trouble with Birger. I mean, I'd never seen him so mad before.**

**Miria: ... Wow. Cheery. Good luck with that one. I don't want t'spoil too much, but I guess I can write a short bit 'bout my experience getting used to regular life after the buck-toothed hares plopped me onto an island. Y'know, getting adopted by a bunch o' idiots that drink salt water. Huh! Wasn't a walk on the beach but I got out on top, as always.**

**Lord Keetch: Should I win this tournament of appeal, my wife, Lady Ayda Swalestrom will contribute a segment on our betrothal and her first impressions of my family and myself.**

**Miria: Your boring childhood self. Who'd wanna read about a girl's perspective on a snot-nosed prissy?**

**Asch: Well I think I'd actually vote for you, Lord Keetch, sir.**

**Lord Keetch: Thank you, Waycaster. I -**

**Asch: I've never read a gir- I mean - a lady's diary before._  
_**

**Lord Keetch: ... That is a bit besides the point, but I will gladly accept your vote. Your segment sounds tempting as well, albeit vague.**

**Asch: Then please excuse my vagueness, my lord. It's just... I'm not all that proud of it.**

**Miria (at both of them): You two done gossiping? We've gotta repeat the rules before the readers forget.**

**Asch: Right. So please vote for this contest. Whatever happens, Jade isn't going to alter the story, so don't worry about her cutting out a character because he's not too high up the ranks. Remember the following things:**

**1) +1 for a mention in the review, +0.5 points for a vote in the poll; you can vote for two different characters  
2) Contest closes on Thursday, May 9th at 6:00 PM EST  
3) Winner's entry is added onto The Memories that Make Us on Thursday, May 16th  
4) Only the winner's entry is guaranteed; Jade might add the other two and then again, she might not. What? Whad'dya mean I didn't say that earlier? Oops. Well, I'm telling you now. I hope the choice is easy for you, though. :)**

**Lord Keetch: Should you have any questions about the process, feel free to contact Miss TeaLeaf through the Pigeon Messaging service.**

**Asch: Actually, my lord, I think that the PM stands for _Private_ Messaging.**

**Lord Keetch (at Asch): You would do well not to correct your betters in public.**

**Miria: Whatever! Just go _vote_ and get the hell outta here! *throws an empty pitcher at you***


	20. Torture House

**A/N- Special thanks to all who reviewed since the last chapter: Saraa Luna **(who really likes pigeons), **Cap'n Tassie **(who I haven't scared away yet), **Professor-Evans **(who probably still hates General Dirk with a passion), **Free Thought **(who reads deep in the details), **Red Squirrel Writer **(who writes excellent reviews and even better stories), **Echo Scourge** (a new reviewer), **ferretWARLORD **(who hasn't failed to make me laugh), and **Quaver Tava **(the guy who will probably vote for Mickey Mouse in the next presidential election :P ).

* * *

**Torture House  
**Miria Wildshore

_"Happiness and sanity are an impossible combination." - _Mark Twain

* * *

I hate music.

I hate beasts.

And most of all, I hate weddings.

Worst possible time for me to be at Redwall. Those bells were givin' me a ripe old headache from a league away, which marked up my speed; the back of my paw was just _itching_ for an introduction with the bellringer's face. Of course, I was already in a rush. The more distance between me'n those hares, the better.

I shouldered past every creature that even looked like he wanted to talk. They liked to ask if I was travelin' alone, if I was a newcomer, where I was from, how long I'd been on the road, and all of those Inlo-y things. If they didn't offer food or water, I ignored 'em. If they offered, I took what they gave and told 'em to shove off.

Free vittles didn't happen all that much, but it happened more times than it should've. I thought the wolves in the North were chummy, but Mossflower's smiling bags of fur were a peg higher. The wolves were bulky enough t'make an idiot think twice, but these woodlanders must've had a death wish or something. Didn't they know that the world was full o' robbers and cutthroats?

_CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! _Damn the bells.

And then I saw the abbey from a distance and the sight o' it proved my point about these damn woodlanders. Ever since I stepped foot in Mossflower, this thing was all that anybeast really had to talk about. Big redstone building that broke over the crowns of highest oak trees? Well, it's not every day that somethin' lives up to expectations. The abbey stood out like a sore thumb in this place where there was only a smatterin' of villages around. It was like puttin' up a sign that said "We are the only beasts in this damn country that has treasure!" And to sweeten the deal, they didn't believe in weapons?

_They'd better thank the bloody Fates they aren't dead yet, _I thought.

By the time I arrived at the fortress, I barely even noticed that the bells weren't smashing around anymore. I should've been jumping with joy, but the scores of chattering beasts ruined the mood.

"Welcome!" beasts cried when I approached its gates. Fires blazed in their braziers and children screeched as they weaved around the crowd. All around me, beasts were decked out in ugly green robes that might've been burlap sacks. They were everywhere, pulling strangers aside and shaking paws, asking all sorts of nosy questions.

"Welcome, lass!" A large, grey-streaked otter barred my path. Armed only with a moron's grin and shielded by his arms crossed over his chest, I could've taken him down easy. "Skipper Rosco at yer service..." He cocked his head to the side as he said the obvious. "You aren't from around here, are ye?"

"Glad to say I don't." A step to my left, and he mirrored it with a step to his right. Just my luck t' get stuck with this one.

"Well then you don't know the rules 'round here," he chuckled. He held out a veiny arm and stretched his paw wide open. "A maid traveling on her lonesome needs to defend herself, but not among friends. You can leave your spear with me."

I clicked my tongue. "Sorry, Skip, but I don't think so."

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" He clapped his empty paws together. Nobeast in Mossflower took anything seriously. "Real cute, lass." And then his face turned half-serious, but his mouth was still curved in a smile. "But if that's the case, I'm 'fraid you'll have to stay outside."

"Fine with me. I can talk to your abbess outdoors."

He snorted and shook his head. "You aren't gonna change her mind about her own rules, miss."

"I wasn't gonna talk 'bout bringing my spear in." I tapped the pole against the path and felt the pebbles scuttle at the impact.

"I'm sorry, but the abbess is busy with plans fer tomorrow's wedding. Come back in a day or two and she'll be free then. You're welcome to join in the festivities, but _after_ you hand over the pointy stick."

"It's important."

"Everything 'bout weddings is more important right now."

"I wanted to talk about Brink Rufeshodd."

His smarmy smile died right then. "Brink, you say?"

"Yep."

The Skipper's face was all grim with concern. The wolf Alpha had that same look. _Great. Wonderful! Another beast to talk about how great he was and all the stuff he did. Maybe this time they'll tell me his favorite food and his favorite color._

"What do you know about him?" he asked.

"That he's probably still alive," I replied.

He grabbed my shoulders and gave me a jerk. "Did you see him? Did you talk to him?"

I shrugged his mangy claws off. "No. But I plan to." _And I plan t'do more than just chat._ He looked down at his footpaws, and for a second I thought he was a starving kid. Then he looked up and he looked completely calm.

"Do you know anythin' about him?" I asked.

He shook his head as if he had something to be tired about. "Just that he went up North and never came back down."

"Does your abbess know anything different?" I looked around at all the bumpkins waddling around us. Not a queenly-looking beast in sight and I figured she must've been inside.

"If she did, she'd have probably found him by now," he muttered, shifting himself so that he was staring at the brazier. Well, that was a perfect waste of time.

"What business do you have looking for him, anyway?" asked the otter.

"Personal business."

Skipper Rugfur pursed his lips and shook his head. Guess it got through that I wasn't gonna say any more."Awright, awright. You wait here and I'll get her."

"Right."

I turned around and then flipped back to me real quick. "Er, what's your name again?"

"Miria."

"Miria, wait a while."

I folded my arms across my chest and propped my spear by the crook of my elbow, leaning lightly against it while I stood at the fringe of the moving crowd. Amazing how many beasts managed to jam themselves into the building. I couldn't help wondering if that was what a castle was like. A _real_ castle instead of those fancy stone houses that nobles liked t' call home.

I stood out there for a long time, tortured by the scent of bread that wisped out of the windows. Eventually I found myself sitting atop a boulder with a leg curled under me, my spear clutched in one paw and my rucksack in the other. Some beasts tried to chat with me, but I rotated my weapon in my palm and they changed their mind.

A few more eons passed and I thought about barging into the redstone abbey myself. Only, pairs of the skipper's otters were guarding the way in. I should've figured that she was gonna make me wait. Well, Kilmar always told me about how snooty nobles can get- all high'n'mighty and never rushin' for anything. He never knew any true nobles, though. Just the little ones that ruled a village and thought they owned everythin'.

My ears perked when I saw Skipper Racksack stride through the crowd, taking his sweet ol' time to talk to dull beasts. Beside him was an old hag all trussed up in some hideous moss green burlap sack. _Let me guess, the abbess is busy countin' her Gold or got her pomp arse stuck in a chair._

"Had trouble findin' her. Miria. But here she is." He held an open paw towards my direction before he moved and held it towards the smaller otter. "Meet the lovely Abbess Jolin."

"Abbess?" I snorted. _The ruler or Redwall is_ this_ thing? _The master of this red palace wanted to be seen as a commoner. And not just any commoner, but a poor junk peddler, from the look of her. I pictured something easier to hate... not that it was too hard, anyways.

She kept her paws braced together, hidden in her giant sleeves. I imagined a wickedly sharp dagger snuck in there, ready to strike at a moment's notice. But the lady's hazel eyes were smiling and she did a little bow. "Welcome to Redwall, my child."

"Child?" I scoffed.

"Just a thing," the skipper explained. "Jolin here is _Mother_ Abbess, which makes everybeast else a child."_  
_

_Bunch of freaks._ "Makes no sense, but whatever floats yer boat."

The abbess's smile never died or faded a bit. She just chuckled and sat down next to me, though she struggled to get her sorry self on top of the boulder. I don't know why she was calling me a child when I was taller and stronger than her. She'd plopped herself down next to my rucksack and I pulled it closer to me so she wouldn't get any ideas.

"Rosco, please get the guest some bread," said the abbess. "She must be starving."

"You got it, Mother Abbess. But first..." Again, he held his paw out to me. "You give me the spear and I'll let you alone with her."

I gripped the pole harder and held it up so it clacked against my stone seat. "'Ey thickskull, I'm not in your abbey and I don't have to give up m' weapon."

"Oh Rosco," scolded the otter lady.

He ignored her. "I'm not speaking as Skipper, but as her older brother. Spear, _please_."

I opened my mouth to give him a wallop of my mind, but I felt something warm touch on my free paw.

"He can be stubborn sometimes, so it's best you do as he says." She rubbed the back of me paw in a soothing kinda way. "There's some free bread in it for you. Soft as a pillow, warm and fresh from the ovens, and wonderful with piping hot soup. You can have as much as you like and you can come into the abbey for a feast, some cordial, a bath, a bed, whatever you want and whatever you need."

"But my spear-"

"-will be safe with my brother," she finished. "You won't even need it in the abbey. You won't even miss it. He'll give it back to you when you're ready to go on your way."

"Feels like a trap t' me," I growled.

"Well if it was, we'd have already sprung it," said Rosco. His face might as well have been stone. "The otterguard and all manner of beasts are everywhere in these woods. If we wanted, we'd have you."

I licked my lips and wrenched my arm free from the abbess's touch. Sure they seemed innocent and harmless enough, but so does poison oak.

"Or if you like, Rosco doesn't need to go anywhere." She gave him a warning look that made him scrunch his face. Now they were more like bratty siblings than mush-headed leaders. "He can sit with us while we talk. It's your choice," she eased. "Nobody's forcing you to do anything."

I thought for a second longer. I guess I _was_ hungry and I _was_ kinda tired of sleeping in the open... _and_ I'd never been in a castle-abbey thing before. And Inlo did trust the Redwallers.

I held my spear flat to the ground and Rocknose almost didn't take it from me. He looked too surprised.

"And your daggers?" asked stupid otter.

_Cripes!_ I wrinkled my snout into a grimace and pulled out the hidden blades. One at the back of my hip and the other strapped to my outer thigh. I laid both of them out on the boulder so that he could collect them.

"How'd you know?" I asked.

"You learn a thing or two 'bout hidden blades when you've been in a war," he winked. _Veterans!_ I cursed inwardly. _Think they know everything._

"Thank you," Jolin smiled. It was a sticky sweet look that reminded me of my mother whenever she tried to force me to swallow a spoonful of tonic. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

"It's not fear," I sneered, watching Roughcall take my weapons into paw. "It's just being cautious."

"If you say so, my child." She hopped of the rock and clasped her paws together so that her sleeves concealed them again.

"And that's another thing," I pointed, sliding off the boulder. "I have a name- Miria."

"Very well, Miria," she bowed. "But I came here not only to welcome you, but to speak about a dear, dear friend. Would you like to come inside the abbey? I don't want any distractions or interruptions when we discuss such a serious topic."

"Might as well," I shrugged.

* * *

After walking around for two minutes, I could see why they took my weapons away. With every step, I thought about whacking a brat between the ears or jabbing somebeast through the stomach. Well, I could've just pegged them with my fists, but I'm pretty sure that Skipper Rosco would stop me before I could land a hit. Well, after all that traveling and havin' to stomach the damn wolf, it would've been an even bigger waste of time t'get kicked out of the abbey this early.

And _especially _not before I tried their food. Cakes, bread, soups, fish, pastries, fruits, tarts, salads... All of 'em laid out on the table on some giant spread for everyone to enjoy. If the Redwallers ate this well even once a month, I have no idea why they didn't all keel over from heart attacks. The creatures shared amongst one another, smashing their mugs together so that ale rained onto the floor while they giggled around like idiots.

But that was just the outside. The inside was probably just as big but the Redwallers kept it pretty much empty 'cept for cooks and serving maids that scuttled around going "Good evening Mother Abbess!" and "Welcome to Redwall!" and "Skipper Rosco, how are you?" The two otter leaders only nodded and waved.

I thought about Keetch and wondered why the vermin always talked about Redwall as if it was the greatest place in all the lands. Maybe it was the best in Mossflower, but Kilmar talked about Parma like... Well, he never called it great, but he said it was a place where a beast can get whatever he wanted _if _he knew how. But as giant a place as this is and even with all their food, they couldn't even get themselves a decent pair of clothes. In fact, there wasn't even so much as an ring on anybeast.

I figured to m'self that they didn't even bother with coins here. The wolves didn't, and they said they were followin' Redwall's example. And those two reminded me of Inlo and his fat, flapping jaws. They talked about passin' beasts, telling me where they were from and what they do and how many brats and blah blah blah blah _blah_. And oh, it was worse when they kept correctin' each other about all the fine details. Food or not, I was regretting setting foot in the abbey.

"And here we have Great Haaaaaaaall!" the Skipper announced, holding both arms up in the air and enjoying the echo that boomed back.

The wide hallways opened up even more to a high-ceiling room that curved like a dome and had rows of pillars as thick strong tree trunks. With every step, I heard the echoes that made me think of caves. But instead of something dank and dark, it was filled with firelight and warmth and... it made absolutely no sense.

"Was Redwall ever taken?" I blurted.

"Taken?" both otters asked.

I shrugged. "Yeah. Did vermin ever rob it or something?"

The two of 'em gave each other a dumb look before they smiled. But of course, the skipper had a bigger mouth and wore the stupidest smile. "O' course!" he said. "Happened many times a'fore, most of 'em before our great-grandparents were even born, but we Redwallers have always pushed 'em back and taken back everythin' that's ours."

"Even the treasure?"

"Treasure?" he guffawed.

"Redwall doesn't have any treasure that the vermin want," said Jolin. "Only plentiful harvests, happy homes, healthy families, and safe walls."

_Liars._ I stopped dead in my tracks and they halted. "So you could build all this," I waved my arms in the air. "But you can't even collect any treasure for yourselves?"

"Why do we need treasure?" the abbess giggled. "We have everything we could ever want." She waved a paw around the hall and smiled some more. But that was it- it was an _empty_ hall.

"Well you need t'pay beasts to work, don'cha?"

"We _all_ work hard to support each other," said Rosco.

"We do it without coins because we know that the true reward to hard work is a neighbor's love."

"What a bunch o' tripe." I didn't even snort or laugh. They were actually serious for once. "Try that in any other village or kingdom and you'll have beasts at each other's throats.

"Hello!" I bellowed, mimicking the typical deep, burly voice of a fisherbeast. "You can buy your seabass here with _this_ much neighborly love!" I stretched my arms far apart. "Aye, this much'll do! I c'n definitely feed my kids with this!"

"We help each other equally," the otter lady frowned.

I crossed my arms over m'chest. "And what happens when war hits? When plagues start driving beasts mad? Drought? Famine?" I pointed out. "How d'ye choose who gets herbs? Who gets food? Who lives'n who dies?"

"Whatever we have is shared," Rosco growled. He didn't like my questions, but I didn't think that anybeast here liked anything that made sense.

"You keep sharing, and there won't be enough to go around."

"Says the beast that will be eating from our hard work tonight!" he spat.

"Peace, Rosco." Jolin stepped between us and laid a paw on the rockbrain's shoulder. "She is merely curious."

"I don't like her tone." His words were at her, though he glared at me. Didn't scare me a bit. The look was nothing new.

"Miria," the abbess said in a delicate tone, though I could tell that she wasn't as smiley. "I understand your confusion, but Redwallers lives simple lives here and that is just the way it is. If tragedy strikes, we pull together and, if we must, we will die together. But at least we will be together. Yes," she sighed, "better to have a pawful of survivors than none at all, but what is life without your loved ones? If some day, only five beasts remain in the abbey, what then? They will succumb to starvation, the elements... vermin... anything else out there. Redwall has always, _always_ worked through our problems this way and we have always prevailed."

She nodded her head in a sweet, know-it-all way. "A tried and true method."

_Loser talk._ That's what Kilmar would've said. But me, I guess Jolin didn't know how close her words were to my past. But then again, I was still breathin'... even though nobeast was alive to be glad of it.

"Still doesn't make sense," I scowled. "But I'm not here to waste time and argue."

"Could'a fooled me," muttered the skipper. Jolin responded with a sharp jab, her elbow in his ribs.

I hated her the least.

Her brother grumbled and pouted and whined and rubbed the sore spot in his side.

But Jolin switched from bickering little sister and back to mother abbess. "So," she said carelessly, "I am so sorry for the distraction. You have news about Brink."

"Yeah, and I'm in a hurry, so quit wasting time."

"Oh? Well why didn't you say so?" she clucked.

Never mind what I said earlier. I hated her just as much.

* * *

Her room was a tidy one, but there wasn't anything inside t'mess it up anyways. Just an open dresser half-filled with some normal clothes and those ugly green robe-dress things, a bookshelf, a couple chairs, a desk, and a bed big enough for two.

Rosco was gone. Jolin told him that we bickered like Dibbuns, whatever those were. He put up a fit when she told him to get lost, but she was the abbess and it was her damn abbey.

I took a seat by the window and noticed the glowing lights down below us and the swirling frenzy of beasts.

"So, what news do you have about Brink?" She put herself on a cushioned wooden chair across from me and laced her claws together. If she was tryin' to look calm, she was being a horrible wreck of it. Her tail kept twitching and her whiskers flicked whenever she tried t'keep up her smile. "I want to hear everything," she finished.

"But I got nothin'," I asserted. Her smile crashed. "I just have questions." Her mouth made a perfect 'O' and she tried to look pleasantly surprised.

"I see..." She sagged a little in her chair. "My mistake. I just thought-"

"Hey, I told your brother that I had _questions_, not news."

"No no no." She shook her head and waved a grey paw in the air. "Not at all. He told me you had questions, but I let my optimism play a fool of me. My mistake," she repeated. Her smile was old and worn, and I'm not sayin' that because of her wrinkles.

"So what questions do you have, my child?"

"The wolves say that there were two tracks goin' South," I said. "The only thing South of those parts are a couple shippin' ports and Mossflower country. But he couldn't have gone anywhere by boat. Back then, the vermin took all of 'em during their siege."

"Yes, yes. I remember the siege all too well." It didn't sound like a happy memory. Well, no big surprise there.

"Then do you remember Brink walking by here?"

Her back slouched and she shook her head. "No."

"Nobeast mentioned any otter that looked like him or sounded like him?"

"No."

I dug deeper. "There were two sets of tracks goin' South. _Two._ Do you know who came down with him from the North?"

"No." Her voice was as hollow as her brains. "No."

"Any information at all? Any guesses on where he is?"

"No."

"Think _harder_."

She shrank back. "I am sorry, but I don't know any more. He just left and... never came back."

Well that was it then. If Keetch couldn't tell me, and this greying sack of bones was in the dark, then what did I have left to do?

"Do you think he's still alive?" she asked. Stupid! _I_ didn't have a scrap of an idea where he was. How was I supposed to know _that__?!_

"I'm as clueless as you are," I shrugged. _And that's pretty damn clueless._

Her paws fidgeted with each other while she tried to find the words. Well, I was done and there was nothing left to do except scream at Keetch the next time I saw that blasted fox in my dreams. I stood up to get the hell out of there, but Jolin latched onto my wrist.

"Why are you looking for him?" she asked. There were tears sitting in the corners of her eyes. "Nobody's cared for a long, _long_ time. He might be alive and he very well might be dead, but I want to learn what became of him. So please, tell me why anybeast would be interested in looking now."

"He's my uncle," I said carelessly.

She breathed in. "Cora?"

The name stung and I yanked my paw out of her leathery grip. "That's m'Ma's name."

"Brink always spoke fondly of her." She stood up and I backed away. I did not need to hear any of that. He didn't have the right. "And she had a daughter?" she continued. "Oh... My dear." She forgot what I was like and tried to touch my cheek.

I smacked her paw out of the way. "Stoppit!"

I might as well have slapped her across the face. She looked at me and blinked the blank stare out of her eyes. "I- I'm sorry."

"You should be."

Jolin didn't even hear what I said. She just sat back down in her seat, an old lady that'd exhausted herself by standing for ten seconds. "But if Brink were here, he'd be glad to know that she's happy." _Funny,_ I thought. _The definition of happy and dead must be the same here._ "He liked to talk about her a lot. He never considered me as dear as I considered him, but I didn't need to be his closest friend to know that he missed his sister."

_He didn't have the right t'pretend he cared._

"He spent all his time training with my Uncle Raller. He was very good with a sword and dagger and sling... just about every weapon, really. And he was always so quiet... Quiet until he felt like he needed to talk." She chuckled quietly to herself, still staring down at the skinny paws that lay on her lap. "When he did talk, he sounded like you."

"Like me?" Couldn't be any farther from the truth. I was nothing like him.

"He could be so belligerent sometimes, hot-tempered, and blunt. As stubborn as a boulder but very loyal." I nearly spat at that last word._  
_

"When he left Redwall, there was no doubt in my mind that he would help us. Everybeast else said that the fox convinced him to run, but I knew him. He was reckless enough to dive into a crazy stunt."

"Did you know Keetch?" I asked. I'd rather talk about some corpse of a fox than hear her moon on about Brink.

She had that miserable smile that old beasts get when they talk about the time they were useful ('ssuming they ever were). "You know, as much as I owe him my life, I never really knew him. Nobeast in the abbey knew him for more than a day or two... Well, except for Clove." She shook her head. "Oh, she has never gotten over his death."

"Who's she?"

"A little rabbit that the fox found in his travels. Poor thing was scared to death, but she loved him so."

Again, there was nothing useful here. Even if I did corner down that rabbit, I'd get more beasts yammering about the past. Besides, I'd had more'n enough of that fox.

"I'm sorry I can't be more helpful," said the crone. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "I wish I had something to help you with. But me, ah me. All I can do is wait."

"Well I got tired of waiting." I shouldered my rucksack and walked past her, pushing the door ajar. "And one more thing," I said, fiddling with the knob. "The woodlanders say you're celebrating your kid's wedding and you sounded pretty chummy with Brink. He wouldn't happen to be..."

"Ha." Her laugh was empty and her face looked flush under the fur. "No no, my child. Don't accuse an old abbess of an affair." _Geez. A simple 'no' would've been good enough._

"Hey."

I whirled back around and saw a stupid otter face squeezing between the door and frame. I had half a mind to slam it on his neck.

"Hey Ma," he said to the abbess. "Everybeast is waiting for you t'give a speech and..." His placed his paws on the frame and drummed them nervously. "We've got trouble."

"Ooooh," she groaned. "What trouble, Rall?"

"We'd better break out the fifth pantry," he said. "We've got two hares and a wolf in the feast now. Two hares! With what we've got out there, we can only feed one!"

_Damn those longears!_

"A wolf? What's a wolf doing here all of a sudden?" she asked.

He shrugged and his eyes must've kicked in, 'cause he suddenly noticed me for the first time. "Oh... Uh. Hello."

I jiggled the knob and pressed the door on his over-sized head. The pressure was very light, but in my mind, I imagined his head spurting like a grape under a mallet.

"Oh! Uh..." He jerked his head out from the slim space and took a step back. "Sorry, marm! Didn't mean t' block your way there!" he flustered with a loopy, defensive grin- the look of a beast who was confused by meanness. I pulled the door wide open and looked him over. He was my age and pretty tall for an otter, but he still looked like your average country bumpkin: simple brown jerkin, a dizzy look, and seemed like one of the annoyin' ones that said 'matey' a lot.

From the corner of my eye, Abbess Jolin pushed herself off her chair and stretched her ancient bones.

"Miria, this is one of my sons, Rallbrook," she introduced. "The one that still _isn't_ going to be married any time soon," she tacked on. Her tone had a bit of a bite to it. The idiot's face went into a half-smirk, half-grimace at that.

"Rall, this is Miria," she said with a troublesome smile. "A relative of Brink Rufeshodd. She's traveled..."

"Brink Rufeshodd?!"he practically squealed the name like a girl in heat. The kid was lucky that the skipper took my daggers. If he didn't, I swear that one of 'em would've been jammed in his throat.

"Miss Miria has been looking for him for a while but I'm afraid she's reached a- _Ooh!_" The abbess yelped in surprise and clapped a paw over her muzzle as if somebeast had slapped her wrinkled bum.

"Ma?" asked her brat. She recovered and shook her head, waving a paw to shoo us both out of the room.

"Oh nothing, nothing," she chortled. "Don't mind this old abbess. The mind plays tricks sometimes. And Miria! Miria, dear!" She reached up to put a paw on my shoulder, but I dodged her and let m'self out. The old otter lady was smiling away like her dusty brain went broke. "I would like you to join my table for supper tonight."

"But I-"

"I insist!"

"But that's fer _family_," Rall pointed out. For once, I was glad I missed the 'pportunity to kill somebeast.

"Well the way she is, she might as well be," she huffed.

I raised a claw. "I don't-"

"_Non_sense!" she beamed.

"But we might not have enough room!" Rall whined.

"Then she can take your place!" she snapped, wagging a withered claw by his nose.

"Here! I'll just make it easy for you crazies." I lifted my paws up in a challenge and walked backwards and away from 'em. Whatever was going on, it sounded kinda like a trap.

The abbess tottered up two steps and hollered "Good luck finding Rosco in all this mess! He's the one who has your stuff!"

I stopped in my tracks and cringed. _ I could try to strangle the old lady,_ I thought._ But that wouldn't get me any closer to my spear._

"My brother should be at the dinner table," she said with a deranged grin. "If you come with us, dear, I'll take you to him. And then when you're there, you can decide to leave or eat to your heart's content."

It was the first time I was ever in a torture house. It was also the first time I'd been held hostage over food. _It had better be damn well worth it._

* * *

**Character Notes**

**Asch: **And the winner of the contest is... *rips open envelope* ... Lord Keetch Swalestrom.**  
**

**Lord Keetch: ***leans against the back of his chair and smirks* Well this is hardly a surprise.

**Miria:** Hmph! I'm just surprised that they like any o' us at all.

**Asch: **But it Jade's written a note on the envelope sayin' that we are all winners.**  
**

**Lord Keetch: **Well that is merely a courteous response to console the defeated.

**Asch: **Funny. Because she says that they were really close.

**Lord Keetch: **What?!

**Miria: ***points at him and laughs*

**Asch: ***hands the otter lord the envelope* It says that some of the review posts were vague, voted on somebeast ineligible, or voted for two instead of one. She didn't really know how to count 'em, so she gave half-votes sometimes. So if she tallied a vote a certain way, Miria won, and sometimes even I won.

**Miria: ***laughs even harder*

**Asch: **Uh... you still won on paper, m'lord.

**Lord Keetch: ***slaps envelope into Asch's open palm* Oh, bother this nonsense! How could _I_ be put into the same category as a blade-slinging savage and a bellowing wench?

**Asch: **Y-you're complainin' about winning...? You're really doin' this. Well, uh, it ain't polite t'call Miss Miria a 'bellowing wench,' your lordship.

**Lord Keetch: ***scoffs* That was you I was referring to.

**Asch: ***squinting, he looks between the Miria rolling on the ground, dying of laughter, and Lord Keetch who has steam boiling out of his ears* Huh... I suddenly see the family resemblance. You are both so... pleasant.

**Asch: **Ahem! *turns to the audience* Well, thank you for your votes. Lord Keetch might not like it and Miria might not care, but I appreciate what you did and I'm sure that Jade's glad that she doesn't have t'do any favorites. She decided that she'll write one entry for each of us, his lordship goin' first because he technically won. *whispers* _Well, she said he won because she'd already written most of his entry. _Give it a day or two, and she'll have it posted.

Also, there were some questions about Abbess Jolin havin' kids of her own. Jade wants t'say that in _The Doomwytes_, one of the last few books Sir Jacques wrote (rest his soul), the abbess later got married and I believe she had children. My author kinda took advantage of that one, so just keep things in suspended belief.

Thanks again for reading (and reviewing) and I'll see you next week, folks! *bows*


	21. The Small Fry

**A/N: Special thanks to those who reviewed- Saraa Luna** (who gets a special Special Thanks for helping me make sense out of this chapter... it was an even bigger mess when I asked her to look at it),** ferretWARLORD, Quaver Ava, Free Thought, Cap'n Tassie, Cairn Destop, Professor-Evans, and Airan's Enigma. ****You guys rock and I actually feel sorry that you're going to have to read this chapter. Honestly, it was excruciatingly painful to write because I want to leave Redwall just as much as Miria does. You can sometimes tell how I feel about the chapters by looking at the titles sometimes, heh.**

**Well, without further ado, here it is.**

* * *

**The Small Fry  
**Miria Wildshore

_"Our biggest problems arise from smaller ones."_ - Jeremy Caulfield

* * *

A flash of colors, splintered wood beneath my footpaws, the shaft of a spear grasped in my calloused paws. I stood planted to the spot while the stoat swung his spear in a downward arc. I rolled backwards, twirling my own weapon in the air before dealing another blow. The familiar vermin was older'n and slower, but he was bigger- much bigger.

He blocked the strike and shoved me two steps back before I sidestepped. He lunged past me, just a whisker's length away from m'nose. A quick spin later, I was hurdling my spear into a vicious circle that connected with his shield- the impact was sharp as a thunderclap. I heard it ringing in my ears, but I didn't lose momentum as I pulled my body into another heavy blow. My weapon shuddered at the impact against his and the tremor nearly numbed my arms.

He swung again, and I barely missed as the onlookers watched with awe. He jabbed and thrust while I twisted out of the way each time with barely a whisker's width between his blade and my flesh. Finally, his barrage broke pace and I put more distance between us.

I held my spear horizontally before whirling it in the air, sliding one paw over the other as I kept the rapid rhythm of movements. The stoat seemed unimpressed by my maneuvers. _Amateur_, his face said. I cleared my head and readied the killing move. My arms strained as I picked up speed; I began moving backwards as Flayburn the Destroyer drew his weapon over his ears and charged at me.

One step. Two steps. Three.

I readied my spear, holding it flat to the ground with my left paw. A swift downward chop of my right arm sent my weapon catapulting into the sky. The crowd gasped as it flicked mid-air before plunging back down.

I spun again, rotating in a full circle before catching the spear in my outstretched paws. One blink, and a beast would have missed it. I belched a barbaric roar as I lunged with the momentum. Hell, I didn't even miss a beat as I jabbed the cushioned endpoint against Flayburn's chest with all my strength.

The creature gave a choking sound as his body slowly caved in and crumpled onto the wooden deck. I stood over the creature, lightening the pressure on him while keeping my pose locked in a stance of strenuous force. Presentation was everything, after all.

Creatures were quiet as the stoat sputtered a bunch of nonsense cursing. He raised his head an inch off the ground for drama's sake before letting it fall against the platform with a dead _thud_. He reached into his pocket and flung the red bits of paper into the air. With one final, snarling choke, the beast was slain- dead in his own "blood."

I looked to the side of the stage and saw a lanky, brown ferret nod at me. The nod said, _Not bad_, but the smirk on his face added, _... for a sixteen-season old wench. _Well, who cared what Grodd thought?_  
_

A good-enough applause followed as I relaxed my position and let Kilmar stand up. From the grimace on his face, I'd guess he was just seconds away from railing on 'bout being too old for this stuff. I did hit the geezer pretty hard. I didn't even get a chance to check up on him before the ringmaster shoveled us off of the stage.

"Ladies and gentlebeasts, lads'n'lasses, that concludes the epic of Vault the Northpoint and his triumph against Flayburn the Destroyer! Now, we go on to the awe-inspiring performance of a lifetime! From the island of volcanoes far to the East, I give you the fiery, fearless, ruthless, Grodd the Hot-pawed Juggler! Everybeast, enjoy!" The fat rat skittered off the stage as the ferret jumped out from behind the curtains and did his thing.

"C'mon, princess." Gruff paws grabbed my collar and tugged me two steps and through the farthest layer of moth-eaten curtains. Kilmar let go of me when we got backstage. Everybeast else was changing into their costumes; they were mostly vermin, and the pawful of woodlanders were as pleasant as sandpaper against fur.

Kilmar pulled his fake armor off and tossed it to me before putting on a ridiculous black robe. I shuffled over to his trunk and dumped it in, wrinkling my nose at the sour stench of sweat and grog. We never washed our costumes much. We just let it wear and tear so that the ringmaster would get us new ones faster.

"Did good out there, kid." A weasel ruffled my headfur too roughly, but I didn't show it. I was too busy doin' my job and arranging all the costumes out on the racks. I didn't even get a drink before Kilmar left, armed with his sour face and a belt full o' knives. I ditched my duties and dogged after him, gaining snickers from our troupe as we got closer to the stage.

"Get outta here, princess," he growled. "Watch any longer'n Growbait's gonna start chargin' you."

"Let 'im do what he wants," I pestered, keeping in stride with him even with my sweat-heavy costume. "I was supposed t'learn knife throwing _ages_ ago."

"Puh! After your act back there? I'd like it better if you learned t'cook better. But knowin' you, we'd probably be better off eatin' rocks." I hung back as he pushed through the curtains and on his way on stage. Grodd was bowing on the platform, bouncing around with a grin while the audience gave a stale applause. I clawed at the itchy turtle-neck collar of my bright blue costume and wished that I at least had some buttons to undo; but buttons cost more money and Growbait, like every ringmaster, was a real Copper-pincher. The fact that he was a rat didn't help with that either.

I sat and sulked as I heard him announce Kilmar's arrival onstage.

_Clink!_

I turned and saw some of our troupe weaving in and out of the crowd. They were all trussed up in hideous colors that were bright enough to light the way for a blindbeast. In their paws were tin pans that they shook every now and then, rattling the coins inside as they scanned for offerin's. After a performance like mine, we should've had a bit more coin. Selfish snots.

_Plink!_

A father lifted his brat up so that he could be tall enough to put something in the offering pan. _Clink!_

The sound of a dull impact made the crowd jostle with excitement. Kilmar probably hit the target. Big surprise.

_Clack Clack!_

More coins fell into the offering pan.

_CLACK!_

The beasts cheered as Kilmar flicked a knife outta his sleeve. The day seemed unnaturally bright and orange blossoms rained from the surrounding trees. Nice day, but nothing lasts long. But quick as a wink, the air suddenly turned and I smelled a hint of a storm.

"Miria," somebeast called. He sounded like he was standin' next to me and everywhere at once. "Miria," repeated the familiar voice.

"Keetch?" I whispered, whirling around in search of him.

"Miria." I turned around and saw the fox in the middle of the cluster. His spotless white pelt stood out from the crowd and his amber eyes seemed to glow. I wanted to run to him, but there was another creature there.

The middle-aged mouse was dressed in Redwall's ugly green robes. He was also Keetch's height, though he was broader built and seemed the type to be used to fightin'. I didn't exactly have to look at his body to know that. You could just look in his eyes and know that he was somebeast to stay outta the way of; they had an intense stare to 'em, like he was constantly training an arrow on beasts.

"Maid of the wild shore," he said with a deep voice. He was so far away, but he didn't have to yell to be heard. "Miria, I have been waiting for you."

I shook my head and looked to Kilmar on the stage, but it was empty. The entire plaza was empty except for the two figures, and everything was cold and quiet. My sixteen-season self was stupid and useless. All I could do was hug my arms and back 'way as the clear sky crumbled into night.

_BOOOONG! _rumbled some distant thunder.

"Where's Kilmar?" I demanded.

"Not here," said Keetch. His black robes swirled around him as he came closer. The mouse followed close behind and I saw a red-jeweled hilt peeking over his shoulder.

"Stay back," I warned, still looking for a spear, daggers, a sword, Kilmar... anything to help.

"We just want to talk," said the mouse.

_BOOOONG! _

"Get lost," I barked. Keetch was already upon me, his cloaks and shadows circling about his legs like tentacles. I stood my ground, not like there was anywhere to run.

"You're supposed t'be helping _me_," I growled at him. "You're supposed to be on _my_ side."

He opened his mouth to say somethin' stupid when the mouse spoke up. "Miria, you must talk to the abbey champion and he will point you the way. Talk to him. Find him."

_BOOOONG! _Whatever was making that sound was a lot closer. Winds swooped on us, tearing away at my fur and buffeting my ears.

"You must find Brink before it's too late." The fox's voice was high and urgent, his tail all frazzled. He kept glancin' back and forth between me and the mouse. "Find him before they find the beast kissed by the sun."

"I don't even know what that means!" I shouted past the gales.

"Miria, find the abbey champion," ordered the warrior mouse. As hard as it was to hear my own thoughts, I heard him clear as crystal. The strange creature gave Keetch a nod that, wind or not, made the vermin's fur lie flat again. "The abbey champion, Miria. Find the beast who will wield my blade and then he will point you the way. Talk to Rall."

**BOOOONNG! BOOOONG! BOOOONNG!**

* * *

I opened my eyes to the glaring light and instantly regretted it. **BOOOONG! **My upper body sprang up as if it had a life of its own. The room spun against my whirling vision and I felt like I was gonna lose my breakfa... _On second thought, what_ was_ the last thing I ate?_ **BOOOOOONG!** The taste in my mouth was bitter and musty-sweet... A taste I knew well.

_Cripes!_ I flopped back onto my bed and shoved the heels of my palms against my eyes. I was sweating up a storm and I knew I had some crazy dream. Problem was, I couldn't remember. _How much did I drink_? _... And where the hell am I?_

**BOOOONG! **

The bell was more'n happy to remind me. _Redwall Abbey._

But then I found myself wonderin' what happened the night before. I looked 'round and saw a high, slanting ceiling with triangle wooden rafters. To my right were rows of fresh beds and opened windows where the white curtains billowed in the breeze.

**BOOOONG!**

To my left, same thing 'cept there was an open door over there. Somewhere where m'ears met my skull, I felt like something in my head was gonna burst.

**BOOOONG!**

Well it was no wonder why everybeast in Mossflower was insane. A beast would go nutters just listening to that thing all day!

**BOOOONG!** agreed the bells.

I peeled myself off the bedsheets and stood up slowly. The ground kept moving and, for a second, I thought I was a'sea. I put a paw on a windowsill and peered out the open window. If I thought the feast last night looked crowded, this was even worse. Beasts of all sorts sat in rows and columns and faced towards the West side of the giant courtyard where an empty podium waited with stacks of flowers cut from their stems. Inlo stuck out like a duck's bum. He took two seats to himself and he seemed to bulge the entire row.

A very long ribbon of red carpet blanketed the aiselway and ribbons were littered everywhere. And when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere. On beasts' dresses, on the floor, on tables, on chairs, on flowers, wrists, rolls of silverware, vases, scrolls, doorknobs, candlesticks, cups, wine bottles... Oh, wine...

I winced and put a paw on my head when I remembered smashing a bottle against the ground. I remembered being angry, but I was always an angry drunk. What else? It felt like something cold was growing in my head, squeezing up against my brains and pushing past my skull. I groaned and cursed the skies for my misery. And then I remembered that the hares were in the feast. I probably went on a drunken rant with them around. _Ceeee-ripes! Hangovers and hares were the worst possible combination for me._

I pushed myself away from the wall and walked through the door and down some stairs where beasts were running around. I just wanted the washroom, but it was too big and confusing. _What kind of lout designed this damn hellhole? _ Passages here, stairwells there, and bedrooms everywhere. I once even stumbled into a nursery where the infants screamed their flipping lungs out. Should've cuffed 'em, but that meant that I'd have to take ten extra steps just to give one concussion._  
_

And then I finally found myself in Great Hall again. Besides size, there was nothing great about it- great waste of time, maybe, but nothing else. I was gonna turn right back around when I noticed a familiar, smirking mouse hangin' on the wall. I took a step closer and realized where I'd seen him before.

I felt like a giant bell rang off somewhere between my ears and I winced at the wash of fevery memories. There was Kilmar, the plaza, Keetch, and that damned mouse. He said something. It was fuzzy... Like snippets of a drunken night. I could barely remember what he said... something about a champion and pointing or something. I stared at his smug image to jog my memory.

Didn't help a bit, but it was the one thing in the abbey interestin' to stare at- a life-sized mess of stitches put on some ugly old blanket. Here and there, vermin and a giant wildcat scampered away with their tails between their legs while he leaned his elbow on his sword. From far away, the tablecloth looked so average- like it was only put there to cover up a giant hole in the wall. But if I stepped closer and ignored the eerie way the eyes followed beasts, it was actually not too shabby.

I'd seen a lot of this sort of stuff in markets before- bigger things, fancier things. The Cardinals of the Western isles was a popular topic: Vault the Northpoint, Anders the Eastwatch, Guilford the Southshield, and Piers the Westhold, and all that fluff. But in all of their tapestries and drawings, you couldn't see one dot of their expressions. Sure, you could tell who they were by their weapons and stuff, but they never looked_ real_; the Redwall mouse, though, looked _exactly_ like he did in my dreams. Every weather-beaten line on his face, the cut of his jaw, the sparkle of his deadset eyes... blahdy blah.

But real as it looked, it didn't help an ounce with my memory. I looked up and rubbed the back of my head as if it could cleanse my grogginess.

And that stupid skipper lied about weapons. "No weapons in the abbey," he'd sniveled. Well, what did they call that thing hanging above a tapestry? A firepoker? Well if it was, it was one hell of a fancy firepoker. It was sheathed in a leather scabbard and the pawhold of its hilt was black, leatherbound, and worn shiny with use. The crosshilt was metal and nothing out of the ordinary... In fact, the entire thing was ordinary enough to make a rock look interesting. Even the red pommelstone on its hilt was boring. All dull and pale compared to that sparkling gem in my dream; it was just a collector of dust that had less bite than an earthworm.

"You'z been harving a loikel bit of trubble there, mizzuz?" I whirled and looked down at a mole. Ugly giant raisin with limbs and a pointy dunce-cap of a snout. And it was wearing a dress to pretend to be pretty... Might as well add food dye to mud.

"Where's the washroom?" I asked.

"Yurs marm!" she saluted with her trowel-paws. I didn't ask a yes-no question, but I wasn't sure if moles had ears either. "One in evurry hall. Jurst you fullowz me! Cairn't get lost with good ol' Bintloam 'round. No zur-ree!" The thing about moles is that they can't talk. Fill a kid's mouth with cotton, and you'll have a better conversation outta him.

And another thing- they are as slow as Inlo's brain. I followed beside her as she waddled up the stairs and around corners while she chatted away with her swollen tongue. I couldn't really understand and I really didn't want to. I just kept quiet while she did all the talking. We stopped when she led me back to the exact same room that I woke up in.

"This is where I started," I said to the dimwit.

She smiled and pointed at the door beside the bedroom. _How did I walk right past it? _I asked myself. _Damn Redwallers ought to put signs up. How's a beast supposed t' navigate this maze?_

* * *

I felt a hundred times better when I washed my face, and a thousand times better when I slipped into a bathtub. When I got into the washroom, the bathwater was already drawn up, though it was cool. It didn't matter, though. It was much better than riverwater, _and_ there was soap. Nasty-smelling, flowery soap, but that was something I'd missed for a while.

My drunken memory came back in patches. I remembered the abbess asking me all sorts of useless questions. Asking where I came from, what my home was like, things that I didn't answer. I was too busy guzzling down the elderberry wine. And then she asked me nonsense questions- things like if I lived by the shores and whether or not it was wild.

She got even more excited when I told her my full name. She grabbed her son's sleeve so hard that I thought it was gonna rip right off. And he... the Rall otter, he looked like he'd swallowed a rock. He didn't talk to his brother or the bride-to-be after that. He was all quiet while his mother kept whispering in his ear. No idea what that was about, but I was gonna stay outta the way.

I remembered emptying a bottle... maybe two. Goblets were for beasts who shared drinks, and I never used a goblet. Straight out of the bottles I chugged until it they were gone. At that time, I remember seeing the hares and keeping it low. I didn't want any trouble, but I somehow managed to yell something to get their attention. After that... a breaking bottle and nothing else.

* * *

By the time I got outdoors, I had missed the exchanging of vows and the kiss. It was perfect timing. I stood under the shade of the abbey and leaned a shoulder against the walls while I watched the scene. The new husband was holding the bride by the waist, laughing and whirling her over beasts' heads while she giggled and whooped. It was an excellent way for the idiot to show off his wife's undergarments.

The abbess was there also, shaking paws and hugging family and laughing. It was a lot more lively than my wedding, I gave it that. I levered my elbow against the wall to bring me back completely upright. It was time I left the place. It was getting a little too cheery for my liking and all. That, and I wanted to stay away from those hares. No tellin' what I said to them, but I didn't want to explain myself- _especially _to that swooning abbess.

But first I needed my things. Never mind about provisions; I could just cram those into my rucksack when they were busy feasting. The first step was to find Skipper Rosco, and that was hard enough with the entire crowd milling 'round aimlessly.

"Miss Wildshore?" I turned and saw that Rall otter standin' in front of me. The otter's pupils darted around like trapped fish and his fists were clenched tight as a clam. He was all trussed up in the most ridiculous poofy outfit- white long-sleeve shirt, black neckerchief bib-thing, a red rose pinned over his heart, and little frilly lacy stuff on the ends of his sleeves. And I thought the outfits in Growbait's performin' troupe looked painful.

"Is it 'bout last night? Because I'm not gonna apologize for somethin' I don't remember," I snorted.

"No no no," he shook his head. "Ahhh..." His fish-eyes circled to the upper corner and then back at me. "No. Not at all. It would be nice if you apologized for pouring wine on Colonel Mayston, but there's... ahhh..." He puffed his cheeks with a frustrated breath and released it slowly. I was beginning to wonder if he was actually_ tryin'_ to look like a fish. "This is gonna sound crazy, but I need to talk to you in private."

"I talked to your loony mother," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "Now I want to get the blazes outta here. So where's your dimwit uncle?"

"Don't talk about them that way," he snapped, fish eyes disappearing as he frowned. "It's not like you sound any better, runnin' off like that without any direction."

"Listen, guppy." I grabbed the collar of his shirt and jerked him an inch closer. He gulped and his pretty green fish eyes came back all white with worry. I wanted to jab them out with my claw. "I'm leaving this dump and I'll find that damn Brink, with or without leads."

"But Martin said-"

I shoved him backwards and spat an inch away from his toes. "Never cared what anybeast said."

"But he said I was supposed t' find you." He spoke stern enough, but his face made him look cheated, like a little sore-loser sitting on his bum and wailing to the skies. "As the abbey champion, I'm supposed to help _you_ on a journey."

Another imaginary abbey bell exploded in my head and the rest of the dream bubbled back to me. "Oh." _Oh. _What a stupid thing to say - _Oh!_ Even the guppy seemed to think so, because he just stared at me as if I was supposed to say more. The abbey warrior- _him?!_ Even without the demeaning uniform, he barely looked like he could handle a toothpick. A beast bumbled into my knees, so I made sure to punt his rump as a warning. The Dib-thing tottered off yelping while beasts frowned and gaped at me.

The guppy stared after the brat, his face was screwed as if in agony. Then he drew himself up and said, "Miria, you _can't_ do that to Dibbuns. At Redwall, we-"

"Dibbuns. Stupid name to call 'em." Then I changed subjects. "And Martin is...?" I led up.

"Martin is the protector of Redwall," he explained while recovering his grimace. "The great warrior mouse who founded the abbey."

"Thought the abbey was ancient- a season older than yer mamee."

"You don't have room to talk, hag." It's not every day that a beast sees a scowling, glaring minnow. I really should'a slammed the door on his head when I had the chance.

"And you don't have room t'bark, brat." He wasn't a tyke, but he was younger'n me. Green as a stripling, really, but he was 'bout twenty seasons.

His fishy eyes rolled up as he took a gulp of breath and muttered, "Martin help me." Then he said, "If you would please just listen, you will know that Martin wants me t'help you on your quest. He told me which direction to go and I've traveled a bit, so I know the lay o' the land."

"Told _you_ which direction to go? Why can't he just tell me?"

The so-called abbey warrior gave me another eye-roll. "Oh, I dunno. Here!" He squeezed his eyes shut and clamped a paw against his head. "I'll find the answer with my psychic powers!"

"Sarcasm," I whistled. "Cute."

He was serious again. "Well, I'm supposed to go with you on this travelin' bit. I know it sounds crazy to ya, but I saw Martin in my dreams and he told me where to go. And right now, matey, you need direction." _Matey, matey, matey._ Every idiot otter seemed to love that word.

"I don't believe this tripe."

"Well, believe it," he insisted, stretchin' up to his full height like it would make him look smarter. "Martin visits us in our dreams when we need guidance. Keetch saw 'im, and he won the war for us. _I _saw him, which means that lives are at stake." He nodded gravely. "Innocent ones."

"I don't want your stink travelin' with me."

"Listen," he said, holding his paws in the air like he was offerin' an invisible bowl instead of an idea. I still couldn't get over the lace-bits on his sleeves. "I know that you like to do things alone, and I can respect that. But I am gonna travel with ya or at least on the same path as ya. Those are Martin's orders and I mean t' carry 'em out."

"Do the same thing to the ghostie mouse that I'm doin' now- saying no."

"I know we got off on the wrong footpaw and all, but-"

My laugh was raspy from the rancid wine taste in my throat, but I still got the point across. "Trust me, guppy. If we got off on the wrong footpaw, you'd be missin' it."

He took a while to understand my meaning before he said cautiously, "So this means tha' you like me 'nough that I can join you?"

A drawling "Noooooope" rolled off my tongue.

Again, he looked at the skies and shook his head. "It looks like I can't reason with you this way," he said. "But how's about this- I just travel with ya. I'll give ya food and clothing and-"

"I want your sword."

The minnow blinked his eyes like he was testing to make sure his eyelids still worked. "What?"

"That pretty red-gemmed firepoker hanging above the blanket in Great Hall. I want it."

"But-"

"Give me that, my weapons, and provisions, and I'll let you tag along."

"But-"

"And clothes, too. But not your ugly burlap robes. Real clothes."

"W-wait a _second_," he sputtered. "I can just follow you if I want. It's a free road and I can track just as well as anybeast."

"Yeah?" I sneered. "It's a free road, but not a clear one. Believe me, I've lived on my own long enough t'know a thing or two about false trails and how to not be seen. Tracking like 'anybeast' just isn't gonna cut it, guppy."

At a dead end, he did the only thing he could say in his defense: "Stop calling me that."

I cocked my head and smiled a cat-like sorta smile. "So after this pretty wedding, I get myself a pretty new sword. Aw, now now. Don't pout! You don't wanna disappoint your ghostie mouse!"

It looked like he was tryin' to swallow a wad of cotton down his throat. "I-I'll have to talk to the abbess." He turned around as if his joints had rust, and he took a few steps to lead me to her.

Sure, beasts had conquered the abbey before. Little doubt of that, seein' how one mean word would send beasts quibbling back to cry in their beds. Rall stopped suddenly and the bastard turned back to me with a knowin' smirk.

"Thing is, Miss Wildshore," he said with an upward tilt to his chin. Then he cocked his head to the side. "I can't just trust you with t'tromp around with the sword of Martin the Warrior, but I can't just let you run off on your own. True," he shrugged, "I might not be able to track you if you try slippin' off, but I know a nose that can."

"What?"

He grinned a devil's grin and knocked his head to the side. My eyes followed the gesture and saw Inlo on his knees, sloshing his face in a tub of water like it was the bottom of a mop. Around him, a ring of brats hovered and cheered when he reared up his big ugly head, and displayed the row of apples snagged in his jaws.

I repeated flatly, "What about the runt?"

"Got ya outsmarted," Rall bragged. I've seen beasts get completely turned around once they've caught wind of a sure victory. Rall was one of 'em. "Sure can dodge out of my tracking, but you can never beat a wolf's nose. And believe me, sweetheart," and then he winked, "I'm thinkin' he's in love, 'cause he was tellin' us last night that he'd follow ya to the ends of the world. Ha!"

I nearly bit my tongue clean off.

* * *

**A/N: Not my best chapter, but it was a necessary one to make. Redwall is like a necessary checkpoint in every Redwall Fanfic out there and it's a very boring checkpoint (as exhibited here). It is like at Disney World, where you _have_ to take a picture with Mickey Mouse; you might not want to stand in line for hours to meet a guy in a giant black rodent costume (unless you're into that sort of stuff... no judgement), but it is almost like a requirement for all who go to Disney World. Yes, Redwall is the Mickey Mouse of Mossflower. **

**The good thing is that I can highly empathize with Miria, since I want to leave the abbey just as much as she does. The other good thing is that the next chapter was much, much easier and more fun to write and will be done with more confidence than this one. **

**Also please note that Miria is an unreliable narrator. Her descriptions and recollections are essentially exaggerated to the point where everyone sounds like an absolute moron. To those of you who thought that some of her characters sound particularly whiny or stupid, this is the reason. It's more of a stylistic choice, since I wanted her narrations to be in character, but I just wanted to make you guys aware of this thing.**

**So please, review away if you think this chapter was worth it. Thanks for reading this chapter and I'll see you next week. :)**


	22. The Family Business

**A/N: Special thanks to those who reviewed since the last update- Saraa Luna, Airan's Enigma, ferretWARLORD, Free Thought, and Professor-Evans. Quaver Ava, where are you? :P**

**So the good news is that I have already finished the next chapter. It will be one that answers many questions that you've had about Sword. Bad news? It was supposed to be this chapter but has been delayed to next week. :(**

**I may also say that I am happy that I've gotten this far in the story. I have a lot of things planned out, so don't worry. Nothing can go wrong with a great and supportive group of readers like you! :)**

* * *

**The Family Business**  
Lord Keetch Swalestrom

_"Marriage is a long business. There's no getting out of it for our kind of people. You will live 40, 50 years with one of these women. Just make sure it's the right one."_ - Downton Abbey

* * *

I do not like guests and, as a general rule, I try to avoid them.

We gathered ourselves into the sitting room and created a semi-circle sort of arrangement with the couch and chairs. It was all the better to observe my daughter, I suppose. As usual, Corinne and Gavin sat on either side of my wife, pestering her until she relinquished the babe to either of them. I sat beside my sister on the curved couch while my mother sat in a chair across from me.

It was not every day that they stopped by to visit me, but whenever they did, they chose the most inconvenient time. I had plenty of errands to run, after all. _Visits,_ I said mentally. _That is yet another reason why infants are troublesome._

"Awwww," Corinne cooed. "Look at her little face. It's a good thing she takes after her mother." To demonstrate, my little sister held up the infant so that her face was beside mine. Gavin laughed, as usual, and plucked Arlyn from her aunt's grasp.

"Amusing, little sister," I grumbled to her once their transfer was complete. To be honest, my daughter looked nothing more than a furry mass of fat who looked similar to every other infant. What with all their relentless drooling and aimless babbling, it was a wonder that anybeast would be able to tell them apart, much less find familial resemblance.

"You know," my wife piped, "Arlie doesn't look much like my husband, but she's definitely her father's daughter. You should hear her complain!" As if in agreement, the tiny bundle gave a squeaking mewl as it squirmed in Gavin's arms. Everybeast, even the servants, burst out laughing. The serving maid Deneen nearly poured the tea on my lap as she did so. It would have been a horrible start to my day.

My mother reached out to my brother with open arms. "Give her here, Gavin," she said. "I want to hold my sweet little Arlie again." While she got the newborn situated, Ayda and Corinne went straight to their usual gossip. Again, it was Oriel, but he was the most exciting thing that maids ever talked about those days. It was either the noble Edgewise Knight or more speculative drivel about the contempt between our peers. Needless to say, I preferred the former.

"Oh, he's going to be in the next tournament." Corinne feigned a casual air as she sipped some tea. "He's real handsome."

"After everything I've heard, he's that and _more_," Ayda giggled. Believe me, if my lady mother was not present, my wife would crow about the crass details and rumors that she had heard. Many a time, she had said such things in my presence- mostly to irk me.

Gavin joined in the chittering. "You _missed _it, Ayda! He got a perfect bullseye nearly three times in a row! He messed up a bit with the javelins, but - the fight! Great seasons, the fight!" He leaped to his footpaws and wheeled his sword about the sitting room, prancing about like a deranged toddler. Gavin's sword truly was a frightening weapon, forged from the sharpest of air and smithed in the far-off land of Make-Believe._  
_

"Gavin, settle down," my mother chided. "You will disturb the baby."

"Sorry, Mother." He sat down promptly, though he was still grinning like a fool. Ayda and Corinne's giggling did not help matters either. How I itched to be free from this stifling company. It was just my ill luck that my mother and siblings caught me on my way out the door and _insisted_ that I waste time with them. My father was absent, which hinted that there was nothing of consequence to speak of.

"If he's all that you two say he is, perhaps I should join you two," my wife smiled. "Goodness knows, I need to look upon a handsome face every once in a while." Another laugh followed in close pursuit. It seemed to me that carefree beasts could afford the time to laugh at the drop of a hat.

"Amusing," I muttered with a roll of my eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Keetch," she offered with playful sympathy. "I didn't mean to insult your father or brother." Again, they laughed heartily. At the very least, I appreciated that my mother kept herself at an acceptable volume unlike the others who guffawed away like a trio of drunken sailors. I took the teacup saucer in one paw and with the other, I hooked a claw through the teacup handle.

"I will have you know," I spoke over their din, "that this Oriel is not a creature to be trusted. It is bad enough that Corinne refuses to divulge any information on his origins, but he also refuses to make himself known in public."

"He likes his privacy," Corinne shrugged. "I see nothing wrong with that."

"The request to present himself to the Swalestrom family would be an easy one to fulfill for a beast with _nothing_ to hide," I said with a sip.

"Oh, you get all hot and bothered about everything," she huffed back.

"Well I think it's romantic," Ayda sighed. "A quiet defender who shrouds himself in mystery so that nobeast can find him except if he wants to reveal himself to a fair lady." Corinne blushed at that while I rolled my eyes.

"Please do not give her such notions," I scoffed. "And he shrouds himself in mystery because he enjoys the attention and rumors. A vain creature, that one!"

"What's the harm 'bout hearing stories of yourself?" This time, it was Gavin who opposed me. "It finally gives beasts something to be excited about, I think. And _maybe_ he wants to stay secret so that nobeast tries to threaten or bribe him away from being Corinne's champion."

I opened my mouth to refute his ridiculous theory but found nothing to be said. For once, Gavin had sound logic in his words.

"Whatever the case," my mother said, her attention still focused on the sleeping babe in her arms, "I do not approve of his secrecy or yours, Corinne. But it is your right to marriage and an alias is not against the rules. And speaking of marriage and tournaments..." My lady mother turned and nodded to a suddenly shy Gavin. "We will have to see if Gavin here will be put to a tournament or wed to an enthusiastic young maid." She pecked him on the cheek, much to his chagrin. "I think that my handsome boy will have the latter."

My brother scooted closer to me as though I were some sacred last refuge from the onslaught of females. It was unfortunate for him that I was actually interested in the conversation.

"Well, who do we have?" Ayda asked the would-be suitor.

The way he shrugged his shoulders above his neck, it appeared more as though he were on trial than anything else. "Eh... Er... Well, Father's sent letters to a bunch of them. Thirty, I think. But right now I have five responses."

"Five responses!" Ayda congratulated. "How wonderful! And all in less than a week?"

Gavin pursed his lips and Corinne glanced away. "Erm..." he began again and I noticed his claws complete a quick, fidgety flutter. "More like two weeks and more like five _good_ responses out of all of 'em." Those were just the fathers' responses; the maids' reactions were unaccounted for and were usually much more brutal. Thus was the sad truth for every second or thirdborn noble son. Bumbling and stuttering Gavin would have attracted many potential brides _if_ he were a true heir of the Swalestrom name.

"Oh..." Ayda said before recovering a false enthusiasm. "Oh! Well who are the lucky ladies?"

My mother pat my brother's knee. "Right now, we think Lady Windsail of Parma looks promising, Ayda. As does a few other maids of Southsward- Lady Rueford, Lady Strandsor... Hmmm..." My mother tilted her head slightly in consideration. "And I think those are the top three choices. Good girls, gently raised, and a reputable name."

"What does father think?" I asked finally.

"Your father!" Lady Bellamy rolled her eyes and smiled fondly. "You know your father. He wants to meet them all before he can come up with an opinion. Myself on the other paw," she turned to my wife, "I think we should only believe half of what we see. Now tell me dear, what do you know of Lady Windsail?"

"Cress?" Ayda thought aloud. "Well Cress Windsail is a lovely young girl, though shyness is an unattractive quality for a lady, I'm afraid. But..." she paused and gave her lip a little nip. "But she doesn't have a brother. I don't think so, anyways." That easily explained why a wealthy Parman portmaster would consider Gavin a promising suitor for his daughter. The family name must live on, but it could only do so through sons. In the absence of a son by blood, it was prudent to allow a noble 'surrogate' son into the family through marriage of the first-born daughter.

"It sounds good to me," Gavin said with his boundless enthusiasm. "Windsail sounds like a good last name. Lord Gavin Windsail. Heh. I actually like the sound o' that!"

"Hardly," I said as I poured myself another cup of tea. "We already have Corinne leaving the family. It would hardly be fair to have me be the only one to bear the family name."

"But you don't need me," my brother argued half-heartedly.

"No, I do not- not at the moment, anyways. But as of now, I only have a daughter and no sons. Should anything happen to me, you will be the sole heir, and if you are already married off to another family like a maid, the Swalestrom line is at an end."

"Oh please!" Ayda scoffed. "You don't have to take the wind out of his sails. If he wants to get married, at least let him get a proper look at his options before you shoot them down with a crossbow."

"Just be happy that you got a good match out of it," Corinne flared at me. "Some of us are facing down brutes." As much as I wished to argue with Corinne, I had to focus the discussion Gavin's potential disaster of a union.

Gavin raised a paw. "But Keetch, I -"

"I disapprove," I said with finality. "Family goes first, above all things, Gavin."

"But nothing's gonna happen to you," he frowned. "You just want me here so you can boss me around. You'll inherit everything from Mother and Father, so at least let me go someplace where I'd get something."_  
_

"And we have discussed this _already_," I reminded him with a rising voice. "I will give you a portion of my inheritance. Now will you stop with your self-pity?"

"Stop treating me like a spare," he shot back. "You'll get your son eventually, so just leave me alone! Nothing's gonna happen to you, so bug off!"

"Remember that we had three uncles and they all died in Gideon's War. _Three_ male Swalestrom heirs, Gavin. What were the odds that they were all going to pass on?"

He threw his arms in the air. "That was during wartime!"

"Things happen, Gavin. Best be prepared for the worst."

"_You're_ the worst!" he shouted.

I rose to my footpaws. "Stop being selfish and-"

"Enough, both of you!"

We stopped and turned to our mother.

"I am ashamed at how the both of you act," she rebuked, patting Arlyn's back as the infant fussed. No doubt that our minor dispute had disturbed the child. "And Keetch, for goodness sakes! Sit down! No sense in trying to intimidate your brother." I did as I was told with every dignity of a lord.

"Ayda, dear," my mother said with a forced smile. "Please take the poor thing back to her room. I would enjoy a private moment with the three of my children."

My wife bowed her head and took the noisy bundle with gratitude. "Of course, my lady." I looked to Gavin and saw that he was staring out the window. No doubt that he was thinking about diving through the glass if only to avoid the awkward conversation. It was a tempting alternative.

"Now," said my mother when Ayda was gone, "marriage is a delicate matter and a life commitment. A lot of thought goes into it and we can never be too careful in our considerations. Gavin, your brother has a point about the family line. Keetch, being smug does not give you any more charm- and believe me, you cannot afford to lose what little charm you have." I let the smirk fall from my face.

"And what did you have to gain by waving the death of my brothers around like evidence?"

"I-"

"Could you at least treat their passing with some sensitivity?" Her tone was sharp and I sorely regretted not chancing an escape. "Family comes first, yes, but they were _my_ family and _your_ family as well. You do not have any memories of them, but at least remember _that._ Besides..." She took a deep breath and calmed herself to the point where not even the keenest of eyes could detect her hidden temper. "Well... you were at least looking out for the family name, though I wish you could do so with a bit more tact. You have a good head on your shoulders, but be sure to rein in your tongue as well."

Then she looked to her two younger children. "Bicker and rebel all you like, but remember that these decisions, for Corinne and Gavin, rest upon your father. All of you must remember that eldest or youngest, male or female, your father only wants the best possible match for you and the entire family. And Corinne?" My mother took Ayda's abandoned seat and cupped Corinne's cheek with a bejeweled paw. "I understand that it feels like betrayal to be promised to somebeast you do not want, but your father has the kingdom and your best interest in mind. We cannot keep depending on Parma for trade and Southsward could use some good relations to Triel. It is a difficult balance, but he tries his best. I also know how frightening it is to put yourself as first prize in some tournament and I do wish you the best, love. Oriel or not, that is the truth for myself and your father."

All my sister could manage was a soft, "Yes."

"And Gavin," she said, retracting her paw. Her hazel eyes were stern yet soft at the same time. "We still have much to discuss about your marriage. It is a sad truth that you have less options than your brother had, but we will make the best of the situation. You are a good lad with a lot of charm, so I have little doubt that maids will find you suitable. Goodness knows," she chortled. "You remember all the rejection letters that came in for your brother. Order of birth is not everything."

_How good of you to comfort him at my expense_, I thought to myself.

"And speaking of Father, where is he?" I voiced. "Usually he is the one to break news to me."

"Father's busy with the council," said Corinne.

"A council meeting?" I gaped at the betrayal. "But Father has always kept me informed."

My mother spoke up. "Well maybe he does not want to burden you any more than you already are," she offered with a languid wave of her paw. "You are a new father and you have been agonizing over managing that little school in Darry's Hill and wrestling criminals and whatnot."

My father, Skipper of the Otterguard, did not take me lightly and I wondered if I had perhaps done something to disappoint him. But of course, I could not recall any behavior on my part that could be considered disgraceful. I thought about my council meetings, my talks with Father, the reports I had sent him, and finally my mind turned about to the incident regarding the Fire Ferret of which General Dirk had been so kind to introduce. Though I had impressed the king, I _had_ breached a line.

I tightened my arms across my chest. "I really wish he would inform me on such matters," I said tersely. Nobeast said anything for at least five long seconds. I stood up and did a polite bow to my family. "Now if you do not mind, please excuse me from this stirring conversation, for I must return to work."

* * *

As tiring and droll as it was, Darry's Hill was far more preferable to catering to the whim of company. There was plenty to take care of in the slums, after all. Criminals, beggars, orphans, and then a few rumors about murderers. And the schoolhouse? That was another problem altogether. For me, it was best to hunt down the petty criminals that plagued the kingdom.

And though it pained me to acknowledge it, the Otterguard had become a motley group as of late. It was no fault of my father's, of course, but rather General Dirk's. Nearly twenty seasons ago, his sudden choice of admitting vermin into his army had caused a stir of uproar throughout the kingdom, and the Otterguard suddenly found itself teeming with all manner of species. Never mind that the group is called the _Otter_guard; many beasts found themselves displaced after resigning from their position in Sword. They said, "No respectable soldier would ever think to fight side by side with the enemy."

And so my father found himself surrounded by beasts, otter or not, willing to serve. As much as I disliked the change and the fact that the Otterguard bore a misnomer, I found myself thankful for my change in loose companionship. After all, three young, strong male otters cooperating at the edge of Darry's Hill was a suspicious sight, and my "Otterguard" and I were not keen on being discovered.

Though we were to be inconspicuous, I found myself dressing above the norm of the exhausted civilians. A lord dressed in rags? Hardly! The most that I could stomach was a sun-bleached brown tunic and a simple black belt. My companions, a mouse by the name of Canning and a shrew called Brasser, were more enthusiastic about their roleplaying: Canning, a rugged seafarer gone astray and Brasser, an aged and fiery ferrybeast.

We made sure to stay within each other's field of vision for the day, scanning the lumbering crowd for any sign of distress while the rain dripped little pin-pricks on us. It was an almost insignificant thing, really, but my team of three aimed to capture the little thief that had eluded us for so long. Throughout the season, I had managed to capture almost every criminal that had come across my path, but one particular creature had stayed out of my grasp. Her very freedom mocked me. The locals were quick to give any descriptions and hints that were of use. Some where outright lies, but we had finally narrowed down to analyze our quarry.

Female; long bodied, so she was an otter; only stole during drizzling weather or light snow; always wore a cloak. She had evaded us plenty of times before, and each time, my beasts lost her trail after a short-lived chase.

"You gonna git her?" asked a vagrant one-eyed hedgehog as he guarded his meager belongings. It was true what they say: one beast's trash was another beast's treasure.

"This time, maybe," I shrugged. He did not know who I was, though he knew about the decoys. Everybeast within the area knew about the dozens of large, seemingly-unguarded burlap bags gathered all along the side of the uncomfortable alleyway. To bandits everywhere, it was an opportunity that would have them slavering and rubbing their foul paws. It set my teeth on edge whenever the wrong criminal swooped in and stole one of our baggages. Those creatures would only be disappointed to find themselves with nothing more than half a sack of potatoes, much to my amusement. By the time the fourth bag was wrongfully stolen, I had been standing in wait for hours and my legs had begun to hurt.

"Might wanna sit down, m'lord," Brasser advised in a low voice. "Best get comfy at this point."

I grimaced and listened to his suggestion, though I instantly regretted it when my rudder drifted into a pile of molded potatoes. I wrinkled my nose and tugged it closer around my crossed legs. _If a beast wants something done correctly, he must do it himself,_ I recited inwardly. _... Even if it means being _here.

"I do not understand," I said to the shrewguard as I covered my mouth, feigning a cough. "There are rumors of maids going missing and nobeast has answers. But here, everybeast is more than happy to pitch in on the efforts against petty crime."

"Huh!" The smaller officer stayed sitting on his reed mat, eyes trained on his paws as he polished a stack of copper coins to look occupied. "Shows the true nature of beasts don't it, sir? Ripe old stink like kidnapping happens, nobeast gives a fig because it ain't their problem. A maid paws at one of their Coppers? Huh! Well that's a _real _crime right there. Worth reporting. Well, beasts come and go, but coins aren't supposed ta. Huh!"

_Huh, indeed._ Cynical lot, shrews. And to add to that characteristic, Officer Brasser was well along his seasons. I looked at my other subordinate; the mouse was a few seasons my senior and he had a stern face and strong arms from baling hay as a youngster. Much like the shrew, Canning was sitting on a reed mat, though he did so on the opposite corner of the bustling alley, waiting for any one of our "booty" to be yanked off of the ground.

Like wind over a stream, the crowd stirred for just a moment. I held still while I eyed my beasts; they too noticed the movement. Something darted across my field of vision and right in front of me. One blink later, the dark-cloaked figure had one of our decoys clutched in her grasp.

We jolted onto our footpaws and gave chase, bullying our way past the bumbling civilians and bringing obstacles to the ground. Up ahead, our quarry was doing the same. Oranges, barrels, over-ripe melons, apples, garbage; everything she could get her paws on, she threw in our path to wedge the distance between us. Odorous puddles slapped at the backs of our legs as we ran, and the drizzle stung at our skin and blurred our eyes.

"Stop that beast!" I yelled to the passerbys. "In the name of the crown, stop her!" But if anybeast cared, she was already well away from him by the time his dull mind had registered my command. When we came around the fourth bend, an ache had bloomed over my chest and I had to give up the chase while my guards carried on. Otters, it is well known, are more accustomed to long-distance swimming- not running. One paw over my racing heart and the other steadying myself against a dilapidated building, I regained my composure.

In that time, Officers Canning and Brasser returned to me to report their failure to capture her by footpaw. "By the time we turned a bend," Brasser saluted, "we got to a point where we couldn't see nobeast running. We looked for an ottermaid, but everybeast had their heads down."

"And they all wore cloaks to shield the rain," added the mouse. "Couldn't tell her apart." Well, that explained her sudden activity during those sorts of dreary weather. Cloaks in a crowd, anybeast could blend. The guardsbeasts' breathing was ragged and their clothing was slick with a layer of slime and mud. I could not help but wonder if I was in a similar condition. How I craved soap and hot bathwater and the comfort of clean clothes and- But never mind that. The mission was a success.

"She took the bait, though," Brasser puffed, smirking and placing proud paws on his hips. Something on the ground caught my eye and I dislodged myself from the group to inspect the red object. It was small, no bigger than an apricot seed and its coloration drew attention from the dreary atmosphere.

"Yes," I said, standing over the rounded, piece of wood. "She obviously knows these streets better than us, but we are for more clever."

The ruse is simple enough- give her the means to make a trail. The first step was to understand what our prey would target. Pickpockets steal one thing and split off the next second, so such a creature would steal something already in a manageable bundle. And, as a general rule of thumb to simpletons, the larger the bag, the higher the quantity (and sometimes the more valuable). It was enough to make our goods seem a tempting offer.

In picking our location to stage our plan, we settled on an area that contained the most complaints about her and held a maze of branching alleyways. Yes, the alleyways would have complicated our chase, but it would not matter if she had pilfered one of our decoy baggages.

As for those, the bulk of our bags were actual food so that the thief would not realize that something was amiss. However, we were sure to include a generous amount of our brightly painted wood pieces and to slit a hole in the bottom of each bag. When jostled, the brightly-painted wood pieces would fall and mark our trail of "breadcrumbs."

But as neat and tidy as it had sounded, the distribution of wood pieces varied. In some areas, they would be found in a small pile, as though our quarry had stopped to rest or survey the area, squeezing the bag as she did so. Other times, we would scout an area a good deal just to pick up the scent once more. It vexed me especially when one obstinate otter child demanded that I pay him coin in exchange for the location of where he found his "lucky red stone." Thankfully, Brasser stepped forward and pacified the situation with a solid cuff to the head.

For near an hour, in the dabbling rain, we combed the area and questioned squatters. Some were clueless, a few were helpful, and others needed a little intimidation to remind them of some details. All in all, it was the typical crowd you would expect to find in a slum. Our trail led us through stifling alleyways, decaying garbage piles, puddles of offal, a clan of beggars, and finally, we reached the end of our hunt by the west end of Darry's Hill.

The last red piece was sitting alone by some large stone buildings- old store houses, I think, from the time before Gideon's War. But as I stood there, looking up at the weathered clothing draped over windows and the beasts that huddled by its doors, it was no more than a crammed shelter for those too lazy to build their own homes.

"It doesn't seem right," Canning mumbled to himself.

"Why not?" the shrew bristled. As much as his kind was fond of water, they were not partial to rain. "Let's just get in there, bash some heads, and get it over with."

"Officer Canning, elaborate," I commanded.

"Gladly, m'lord. It seems to me- and I might be wrong- but a beast with a big bag o' food wouldn't stop somewhere crowded," the mouse said, cupping his chin. "If I was a thief, I'd be afraid of other thieves."

"So you are suggesting somewhere more quiet, then?"

The shrew groaned at the notion of further exposure to the weather. "Just when I thought we were gonna catch a break."

"Well it must be nearby," I muttered, folding my arms and turning away from the slanting rain. After all this, I began to question for the hundredth time as to why I even bothered with such petty crimes. But it was my father who said that big issues started from small problems. Like ticks, the small-time criminals sucked the life out of whatever good came from Darry's Hill. My father had the other corners of Floret to worry about, leaving me in charge of a little corner of hell. What a fool I was, proclaiming to my family that I would be the one to right the hopeless area.

Regardless of our state, we inspected the scene, looking for possible places for a beast to hide away. In the end, it was Officer Brasser who found the hideaway. Just a stone's throw away from the last red piece dipped a crooked path that meandered between two stone storehouses. From the looks of it, it was long abandoned. Even its garbage was decayed past recognition and it emitted a righteous stink.

And even though it looked like it would lead to a dead end, the path turned a sharp right to reveal a little, wood-rotted shack. It was essentially a flimsy box with gouges at its corner and holes in its half-hinged door. Really, it was only triple the size of an outhouse. In fact, that was exactly what it appeared to be.

Canning approached silently, peeking into one of its many holes while the shrew and I stood back and prayed that our search had come to an end. Finally, the mouseguard turned to us, grinned, and nodded.

I afforded myself a grin and reared back to kick the door in. What Ayda observed was true: my true marriage was to my name and title.

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**C/N: And that concludes the weekly installment. Though Miss TeaLeaf has been "dropping the ball" with the past few chapters, she did manage to get this one all right. But of course, nothing could go wrong with my narrations. While Miss Miria manages to bungle every creature and place in her chapters, I bring out the true quality of greatness and the complexity of inner workings.**

**Now, if you would like to apply for the proud and noble Southsward Otterguard, please be sure to send in your comments via Review Box. Ignore this opportunity, and you might find yourself bumping shoulders with Swordbeasts. If you were confused by this chapter, then rest assured, you will be employed by neither organization due to your incompetence.**

**Good day and I hope to see you again in the next chapter.**

**Yours truly,  
Lord Keetch Garrion Swalestrom, son of Lord Galen Swalestrom, future Skipper of the Southsward Otterguard**

Jade: But in all seriousness, guys. Please let me know if it was confusing and I'll try to clarify that through edits or future chapters. :)


	23. Never Meant to Belong

**A/N: Special thanks to those who reviewed since the last update - Saraa Luna, Professor-Evans, ferretWARLORD, and Free Thought (who helped me a lot with this chapter).**

**This is the longest chapter so far (just over 6,500 words). I try to ballpark it to 5,000 words, but I really felt this one. It just seemed to write itself out into this and I just wanted to keep the dialogue talking. It's pretty informative and says a lot of what I wanted to say and... Well, I'll just let you read for yourself. :)**

**Just a quick warning that there is mention of an adult theme in here.**

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**Never Meant to Belong**  
Lord Keetch Swalestrom

_"The only justice is to follow the sincere intuition of the soul, angry or gentle. Anger is just, and pity is just, but judgment is never just."_ - David Herbert Lawrence

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I took a deep breath and gave a swift kick that nearly blew rickety door off its hinges. The thieving maid inside the hut shrieked as she stumbled to the dirt-packed ground. I strode in all of three steps in the tiny space, my guards trailing close behind me.

"Thief," I scowled. The cramped shack was a mere clustered mess (complete with some questionable odor). In one corner was a splintered and retired dresser drawer. In the other corner, a mound of blankets. And in the center of the room, the criminal cowered.

"No, no." She scrabbled backwards, hugging a bundle of blankets close to her as she pressed her back against the rotting walls. "Please!" A piercing and continuous wail rang in my ears and I paused at the sight of my captive. From the mud-stained tail to its grime-riddled face, the creature looked every bit like the local beggars. However, this one was a weasel. It might have been pulling its tattered hood over its head, but I saw through that guise. And to add to its crimes, it had an infant in its arms. It could have been kidnapped or it was its offspring. Either way, the possession was illegal.

I paused and glanced at my guards. By their stern and cold expressions, I assumed that they saw the creature's wretched face as well. That, and the presence of a disturbed infant unnerved them. I brought my gaze back on the hapless thing that cowered before me. It was young, probably only about sixteen seasons of age. No doubt it was one of Sword's many outcasts, though few of them ever stayed in Floret.

"Vermin," I began. "You have been caught red-pawed in the act of theft. Relinquish the stolen goods and the child. Do so, and I will be more lenient with your punishment. Resist, and I promise that you will have a far less pleasant stay in the brigs."

"Take tha' food," it whimpered, pointing a shaky claw on the floor and at a crumpled, half-sagging burlap sack. "Take et. Take et! Please don't take Tain. Please don't hurt meeeee!"

I took an additional step and it squirmed back further into itself, desperately pulling its footpaws towards its flimsy body as if my presence scorched it. Filthy, disgusting, ugly. It was little wonder that the beasts of Sword were quick to dispel it from their company. The infant's cry rattled my eardrums and I forced myself to stand ground against that wench's horrible weapon.

"Let me see the babe," I demanded. The vermin heaved a wretched sob and I wanted to shake it by the shoulders, only the measure would have been undignified and unhygienic. But even then, that course of action would have been preferable to ripping the frail pup out of its arms.

"Please," it sobbed in reply. "I'll do anythin'! Jis' lemme go!"

"Let me see!" I boomed. The beggar jolted at my volume and its dark, almond-shaped eyes flicked between me, the child's face, myself again, my subordinates, and then her gaze finally rested on the two knives strapped against my hip. It gulped several times and its arms shifted slightly, lifting the baby so that its face could be seen.

I said not a word as I stared upon the basic, naked face. The flop-eared little weasel pup wailed louder as it looked around the room, squirming as it did so. The maid managed to regain balance and gripped the thing against its chest.

"A weaselbabe?" I heard Canning whisper. From its size and movements, I decided it was older than my daughter, but probably not by much more than a few months.

"Please!" cried the vermin again. It was near hysterics and for a brief moment, I was sure it was going to smother its child to death. "Please don't! Please don't! Please!"

"Quiet," growled the shrew behind me. "Or we'll really give ya somethin' to cry about." Maid or male, intimidation was the true language of vermin. Nothing else would ever get through to them.

"Oh, bu'... bu'... please... I..." Having slowly realized the futility of the situation, it eventually did as it was bid, though the infant still went at its ear-ringing volume. A half victory, that, though I gave the shrewguard a nod to congratulate him on this progress. Sharp of tongue and quick to anger as they may be, but shrews had their useful natural repulsion towards vermin.

"Hold steady there," Canning said to it in a surprisingly gentle tone. "We won't hurt you or your liddle 'un." It was not within his station to promise my intentions in that manner, but he was speaking the truth.

Its face contorted as though it cause physical pain to regain composure. "Who're ya?"

"I will be conducting the interrogation here," I replied. I took an intimidating step towards it. The vermin trembled and crumpled against its squalling, smaller counterpart.

"I am Lord Keetch Swalestrom, son of Lord Skipper Galen Swalestrom, future Skipper of the Otterguard, and benefactor of Darry's Hill," I introduced. My declaration must have taken it aback. I was dressed in a wardrobe befitting nothing more than a peasant, not some lord from the heart of Floret. It quaked at the list of titles and, as any lesser beast was wont to do, it bowed its head deeply.

"Now tell me your name," I commanded. The babe kept up its shrill howl and I winced at the sound.

"Scala, chief."

"Scala," I said through grit teeth, "will you quiet your child?"

It bent its head toward the infant, cradling and hugging it tight, and making that same noise that Ayda made whenever Arlyn fussed. "Shshshshsh... Shshshshshhhhhh." The whelp's face was red under its fur and tears squeezed out the corner of its eyes as it kicked and writhed in its mother's grasp.

The weaselwife glanced back up at me and, upon seeing my face, it bent down again and repeated the motions with doubled urgency. "Shshshshshhhhhh. Hush now, Tain. Hushhhhh." The mother's voice was taut with panic and its arms quaked the babe. I winced and grimaced, but to no avail.

"Will you hurry up?" I snapped.

It gasped, glanced up at its three towering captors, looked down at the infant, and clutched the babe even tighter against itself. "He jis' 'ungry, chief," it whispered. "If ye c'd gimme some privacy fer a few bits, I c'n-"

"No."

The guards both cast me questioning looks but I held my ground.

"After all the trouble I went through to find you, I will not give you any chance of escape. Not with the questions I still have. Now," I nodded at the little bundle beneath the cloth. "You may feed the babe to quiet him. Drape a blanket over yourself and we will turn away while you prepare to nurse, but no more privacy than that."

"But please, sir!" Scala's voice barely carried over the head-splitting wails. "I can't!"

"Do as I say," I said. "No harm will come to you."

"But please-!"

"Do as I say."

"'m scared!"

"Quiet him or I shall do it myself!"

Brasser snickered at my wording. "Didn't know you had breasts, m'lord." I glared at the shrewguard and he was quick to an embarrassed apology (complete with much irritable throat-clearing).

As humorous as my officer found my empty threat, my tone and the knives at my belt had the weaselwife convinced. It gave my guards and I a beseeching look but, after receiving little to no pity, it submitted itself to fulfill its commands.

As promised, my guards and I turned the other cheek while the weaselwife did whatever it needed to do. We waited a few minutes while the mother and child situated themselves in a more comfortable position in another corner of the tight shack. The cub's bawling pacified in a matter of moments, replaced by sounds of deep breathing and hushed mewls as it nursed.

"Are you decent?" I felt that I had not heard my voice all day and it was hoarse as if rusted.

"Yes, chief."

I turned and saw Scala sitting among a swath of stained, patch-work fabric and a reed mat. It had a faded red blanket draped over the babe and its upper body, and it quibbled underneath our gaze. I too was uneasy. My face was flush and my hackles rose slightly. Besides the father, no males should be anywhere near a nursing mother; but inappropriate as our presence was, it was necessary.

"Rest assured that we are not here on any foul intent that you might suspect," I said, slowly half-spreading my arms in the universal gesture of peace. "Nothing can be farther from our minds. We simply wish to speak."

"Yes, chief."

"Refer to me as 'my lord' from now on," I instructed. "No more of this 'chief' nonsense."

"Yes, ch- I mean, m'lord."

I nodded. "Now, I want to know why you are here. No doubt you were brought here by Sword?"

"Yes, m'lord."

"Speak freely."

It swallowed and nodded, swiping a sleeve over its tear-stained cheeks as it did so. Though far more calm than in the past mere moments, it still had an anxious look about it, as though its limbs and back held its posture by taut strings. And despite being covered with sweat and tears and grime, its face was a bit more comely than I had initially assessed. The weaselwife was still unattractive, mind you, but I suppose it would have been the envy of the females of its kind.

"Jis' as you said, m'lord. I was brought 'ere by Sword, m'lord."

"When?"

"'Bout a season, m'lord."

"How old were you then?"

"T'was only less'n a season 'go. I's only a girl o' fifteen, I think... m'lord."

"And what brings you outside of Fort Riddian?" I asked. "Sword does expel adult beasts if they wish to leave their services, yes. But few choose to stay within Floret."

"I..." The weasel cast its eyes downward and its bottom lip quivered. "Sword sent me 'ere. Tol' me t' live proper in Darry's Hill."

"Do not _lie_ to me," I glowered. "If you really were dismissed by Sword, you would not be living in such squalor." She pressed her snout against the blankets and cringed. "Furthermore, Sword is meticulous about the reputation of their vermin. A maid like you who stole from beasts and spoke like a savage? You would have been hunted down and beheaded for sullying their 'precious' name."

"Please don' tell 'e gen'ral 'bout m' baby, m'lord. Please, I beg."

I folded my arms over the other and tilted my head. "Not unless you give me good reason not to do so."

She shook her head and raised her voice. "Y'can't let 'em take Tain from me, m'lord. Please," it gulped before adding another "m'lord."

"Just continue with your story," I coaxed with forced gentleness. "How many other vermin are in Darry's Hill?"

It shook its head. "Not much," it whispered as it licked its cracked lips.

"Be more specific."

Its tongue swept over its lips again. "Ne'er seen 'un, m'lord."

"Then what are you doing here?"

There was a moment's hesitation, but the weaselwife could not create another quick lie or excuse. It sighed, resigning itself to the truth.

"I wouldn't stay with 'em- Sword, tha' is," Scala sniffed, hanging her head so that its hood flopped over its face. "Ran 'way and been hidin' since." Again, it looked up at me and fresh tears trickled down its cheeks. With a babe in its arms and covered in a filthy, thin dress of more patches than fabric, the vermin looked so much the picture of a pitiful figure that I instinctively reached into my pocket for a handkerchief but thought better of it. Who knows what grime collected on its face since its last bath eons ago? It was more than likely that it had fleas.

"They took 'way m'first babe," it moaned, squeezing the infant closer. The little one made a squeaking complaint at its disturbance but carried on with feeding. "When 'ey found me'n m' fam'ly, 'ey saw only tha' I was young an had a babe at th' breast an' took us 'way. Us- meanin' me'n the babe, m'lord. We were jis' a travelin' bunch..." Its voice fell away at that and its eyes slipped downwards at the blanketed form in its arms. "Took 'way m'firstborn and never saw 'er again."

"How many cubs have you birthed?"

"Two, m'lord."

"And your first-born's father?" I asked.

"Grubber, m'lord." _Grubber._ A disgusting name, that. I was hardly surprised.

"And did he father this one as well?" I indicated with a nod at the mass under the blanket.

"Yes, m'lord."

"And this Grubber beast was with you when this happened?"

"O' course, m'lord," was its reply. I was relieved to hear that some vermin believed in marriage until the weaselwife blurted, "M'father's alwa's with th' group, m'lord."

I nearly choked and I heard one of my subordinates swear under his breath.

"W-what?" I stuttered.

It blinked owlishly at me. "M'lord?"

"Are you telling me," I began, "that both children were sired by your own father?"

Its brows furrowed in concern before it answered meekly. "Yes, m'lord."

"Your children are your father's sons?" I reiterated. When she nodded, I gasped and added foolishly, "How is that possible?"

The creature looked at me with its dark, perplexed eyes and shrugged. "Grubber works jis' like any other male, m'lord."

"B-b-but... Your father?!"

It blinked slowly. "Yes, m'lord. Sum'n wrong... m'lord?"

"Obviously," I snipped as I held a paw towards her, the gesture of a confused accuser. "It is your _father_. You cannot be mates with your father. It is unheard of!"

The captive was stunned by my reaction and said simply, "I heard o' it, m'lord. Everybeast has."

"And Sword expects us to work with _these_ things," Brasser muttered darkly.

"What we mean," Canning offered, "is that it isn't proper. No, no. It's bad, y'see?"

"I... don't see... m'lords," Scala squeaked, its neck disappearing between its shoulders. Under the gaze of its captors, it had finally found shame in its past.

I held my paw vertically in the air as I tried to clear my throat. "Let us change the subject, please." An agreeable pause, then "What happened when Sword finally took you?"

"Dragged me off thro' desert when I was jis' barely pregnant. Din't know I 'ad Tain when 'ey took me. Said I was 'n unfit mother," sniffed the weasel. "Couldn't see m' first liddle 'un and... Ugh, the things 'ey do there. They change beasts' names. Make 'em forget their past and fam'ly. Make 'em like slaves, but the vermin don't mind 'un bit. Iffen yer not very young an' they don' like ya straigh' 'way, it's much tougher. I wanted t'leave, but they wouldn't lemme. If they saw I had a babe in m'guts, they would've taken li'l Tain. I hid my belly from 'em and fretted'n'fretted 'til I escaped a'fore 'ey noticed him."

"Why not go to Parma?" voiced Canning. I turned to him and he hesitated before continuing. "Well, Parma lets vermin stay in the outer rings. Not fancy or nothin', but the vermin have their freedom and come'n'go as they please."

She shook her head in defeat and looked at the mouseguard. "I can't make the walk, m'lord. Couldn't-"

"Do not refer to him as 'my lord,'" I instructed. It was by no means a harsh tone, but the weasel cringed as though I had cracked a whip.

"'m sorry, m'lord."

"_I_ am a lord," I explained. "You can refer to me as 'my lord,' but these two," I indicated with a nod in their direction, "are to be called 'officers.'"

"Officers," it repeated.

_Why do I waste time giving vermin lessons on courtesy? _I asked myself. Then I said, "Good, now continue."

It blinked in surprise as it scrambled to recall its memory. "Officers, I couldn't go t' Parma when I was pregnant and can't 'til Tain is old enough t' make et."

To stay in such squalid conditions for the sake of her child was a brave act, especially for a lone maid. If any other vermin had resigned or escaped, they surely would have left for greener pastures or maybe the stray villages around Southsward or Parma. It was true what my guard said. The kingdom across the sea was far more accepting towards vermin, though they will forever be the lowest class.

In Southsward, the weaselwife was brought down to begging and pick-pocketing and... servicing the most desperate of beasts. Her arms shuffled underneath the blanket as it switched the babe from one side to the other.

"What happens to the captured females?" I asked.

"The young'uns?" She shook her head. "They take care o' 'em gudd 'nough. Train 'em for healin' and battle and cookin' and sorts o' thin's. Grow up'n be proper soldiers, I'm think'un."

"And the ones with child?"

She grimaced- an ugly expression even more feral on a weasel. "Kept us locked up 'til the little one decides t'come out. We cry and we beg, bu' they lock us in rooms with each other. Vermin like me ain't meant t'be 'way from the outside fer long. Only got a coupl'a windows th' size o' my head. They shaved us, too. Right down t'the pink o' our skin. Said t'was fer th' fleas, but I got no fleas," it sulked, scratching its matted fur out of habit. The act was probably good judgement on Sword's part. For the sake of a hygiene and an itch-less night, it was something worth the indignity.

"Fattened us up, got a bit o' time to walk in a courtyard when the guards felt like it, but nothin' else t' pass the time 'cept if a Swordsbeast feels gen'rous 'nough to visit with a book." She smiled then- a foreign and welcome expression to her. "I liked 'e vixen Swordbeast. Alwa's came with a book. Tried t'teach us t'read." The sunlight on her face faded behind a cloud of other memories. "But when the babe comes out, they take 'em away'n we never see 'em 'gain. Sometimes babes die, but at tha' point, what's the diff'rence to us? But after... _after..._ that's when 'ey make 'e decisions."

I was already aware of those practices, but it was interesting to hear it from the perspective of one who had been in the belly of the beast.

"Some of us are savage 'uns. The 'uns that snarl'n'spit'n'scratch'n'scream whenever she gets a chance. Saw a ferret strangle a rat." She shuddered again and drew her knees a little higher. "Those ones, they kill. Kill't 'e ones that cheered 'round the fight, too. Bad luck t'kill a new mother, y'know. Th-they..." Its eyes shifted downcast. "They don't let us see, but they tell us all 'bout it so we don't get smart ideas. I never got smart ideas," she said defensively, as though she were suddenly on trial. "No, I's always called stupid. No smart ideas or bad ideas... No ideas, me... 'cept when I'd try t'run away." To which it added quickly, "But that's no' so bad's hurtin' a beast."

"And how would you ever come close to escape?" I asked.

"Long story, m'lord," Scala said with a heavy voice.

"Enlighten me."

It blinked at my unfamiliar vocabulary. "M'lord, ya want me ta..."

"Tell me," I rephrased. She winced and was silent for a moment, drawing in her recollections so that she could explain concisely.

"The good females, th' 'uns who don't make trouble, they test us, m'lord. Sees how much it takes t'make us angry. Iffen Sword don't like what 'ey see, the poor vermin ain't seen again. The ones that pass the test, they stay t'clean dishes and warsh floors and mabbe be a wetnurse iffen the guards like 'em 'nough. But guards stayed with us all th' time. We c'n only leave if we go t'the settlements."

"Settlements?" asked Canning.

She nodded at him, roving her eyes between the three of us. "Sometimes a male Swordbeast wants t' go to the settlements, m'lord. Y'know. The villages outside o' Floret. 'E places with other forts. They say vermin c'n gets his land there. Room t' till fields, grow crops, farm pigeons'n'ducks'n'meats. Still's a Swordbeast, though, but a beast likes t'be out in the open, I'm think'un. But iff'n he wants t'be a proper woodlander, he needs a family, so he needs a mate."

I was also aware of the settlements and that Swordbeasts tended to migrate to strategic sites within the kingdom. The promise of land and the possibility of a more accepting society... Well, it was an opportunistic way to spread forces. In addition, it was an interesting method to rehabilitate savage beasts into a normal, domestic lifestyle - all while culling the truly unsightly from breeding. Strange, vermin fancying themselves as our equals for such trivial bargains. Granted, to take in a wife and support a family was far preferable to the 'traditional' vermin method of polygamy, incest, rape, and battles for mating rites. However, what Scala was describing was nothing more than a farce. Beasts can mimic civility, but that is a far cry from true order.

"He picks a quiet 'un he likes and carries her off," she said with renewed tears. She trembled and I heard her cub whimper as though he shared his mother's sentiment. "Sometimes he'll pick a real Swordbeast- 'un captured young 'nough that she thinks she's woodlander. Bu' if she don't wanna move, she don't wanna move. Bu' _we_... we don't got a choice. No' a real choice, anywa's. Mabbe go t' a new life'n get new cubs and see those ones grow... or we stay the rest o' our lives in a dungeon. We could run when we're in th' open settlements, but run where? Our families 're gone. Nobeast's left. An' if we wander t'Triel, it's worse. T'wasn't too good. Never anythin' good, 'cause we're never meant t'belong anyplace," Scala lamented, pausing to take in a shaky breath.

"A male picked me one day," wheezed the weaselwife. "Din't want him t'know I was a'ready three months wi' little Tain in m'gut. If he found out he had a cub tha' wasn't his... Oh Gates, brutes go in _rage_ if somebeast's been sneakin' in 'is female. And if I told Sword 'bout my babe in m'stomach... I would lose 'im too. I didn't have much time. Couldn't let 'em know, couldn't le' 'em see. Bu' I'm still young, see? Our kind o' females, the ones not taken li'l, we sometimes do stitchwork'n'patchin' for the uniforms. We get scraps for the patchin'- and lots'a uniforms needed those. Li'l by li'l, I took some scraps eve'y day. They checked how many needles we had by the end o' th' shift so we couldn' work on anythin' on our own. But when the guards weren't payin' much 'tention, I took a un'form and pretended t'throw it away. But I kept it, stitchin' it up when beasts weren't lookin'.

Hours it took. _Days._ So many times, I though' they'd catch me. But soon I had it fixed up and, durin' our exercises outside, I hid in a corner'n put it on. Nobeast realized I was gone 'til too late. I walked outta the green and int' the fort. I couldn't talk 'un bit. They all speak proper or otter-y..." She stopped and gaped at me with wild eyes, realizing too late that she had uttered something offensive.

I permitted her to continue with a nonthreatening "Go on."

The creature sighed with relief. "I-I tried t'leave by the main doors," she said. "But I din't have a pass from an off'cer. So I climbed down a window. I thought I'd fall, but I liked t'climb trees when I was little. Big trees." She smiled again. Like the last time, the rare look did not last long. "I fell, though. Hard on my legs and though' I broke 'em a' first. But there were less guards in th' day and nobeast saw me. Lucky, I guess. _Real_ luck, mabbe. I had t'walk t'the city where I could hide, where I could steal," she looked at the discarded decoy bag that sat desolate on the ground.

"Nobeast'd give _me_ any work, 'cept for some males," she said with lowered eyes, and I understood her grim meaning. "Didn't get much o' those beasts, though. I had t'steal, m'lord. I just stayed pretendin' I was a Swordbeast who quit. Then I had Tain." Her eyes softened and looked lovingly down at the bulge beneath the blanket. In that one moment - for just one second - I thought of my wife. I am aware that it is an odd comparison, but the fondness in their eyes was uncanny. "Everythin' I did, I did fer 'im."

Then she looked at me, her eyes turned pleading as more tears trekked her sunken cheeks. "Please, m'lord... Don't let 'em take my baby. I... I can't live without 'im."

"The infant is property of Sword by right," I said gently. Her face fell and her mouth hung open.

"B-but I'm his Ma."

"I am well aware of that," I replied stiffly. I glanced behind me for another one of my officers' inputs, but they kept their silence at the one time I needed their interruptions. Scala sobbed and looked down; her shoulders shook with such force that I feared she would fall to pieces. I was never one who kept a level head around weeping maids. I could stand my ground against fierce arguments, snide insults, tournaments, and the like, but distraught females always broke down every barrier and left me confused.

After all that Scala had been through, vermin or not, it was difficult to watch her cry.

"Please don't, m'lord. He's all's I got. He's all's I got," she repeated, rocking herself as though she too were a child.

But what was I to do in that situation? To alert Sword of her presence would create an orphan and imprison a mother. When they took her a season ago, she and her children were properties of Sword _and_ the crown. Tragic as her situation sounded, though, it could have been for the best. For the boy, he would grow up with promised meals and an education. For Scala, if I put in a good word to that loathsome general, she had the potential to live a fulfilling life in a settlement, birthing and raising children there.

It was certainly an improvement to their current situation, and it was the _lawful_ and just course of action, but I found a nagging doubt growing at the pit of my stomach. Call it intuition or guesswork, but I was not comfortable with that solution.

"Why should you raise your son?" I asked in a soft voice. "Winter will be upon us soon. He could grow sick, he could starve, he could die if some ill-bred woodlander found him. What you have to offer is what you see before you." I swept a paw amongst her meager belongings. "Is this enough for him?"

"I'm given ev'r'thun I 'ave."

"You have never had much to begin with."

She bit her lip and answered in a wavering voice, He could be happy in Sword. Mabbe, mabbe not. I- I dunno what happens t'him fer sure there," she said. "Here, I never know anythin' fer sure 'cept that he's with me'n that I love 'im. Love 'im so much, m'lord. Would die fer 'im. But if Sword takes 'im from me, how's I supposed t'know he's happy? Tha' he's strong? Warm? Safe? Tha' he'd had sum'n t'eat? Healthy?" She shook her head. "D'ye have a pup, m'lord?"

"Do not change the subject," I warned. Truthfully, I understood what she meant about the anxiety of not knowing. It was the very reason why I fought for Corinne in the first tournament, why I could not allow Gavin to be surrounded by scheming, swindling Parman lords. My father had always said to me that pity was a false road for good, but I could not bring myself to tell Scala that her time with her son was at an end.

"Look at me," I ordered.

"Wha'?" She unwittingly did as she was told and held her gaze as I crouched down slightly. Her ears twitched and fell flat on her skull, but not in an aggressive manner. As I leaned an inch closer to her, everything about her melted in fear. She tilted her chin against her neck as her eyes grew large. I could tell that she ached to break eye contact, but she was also deathly afraid of disobeying a command.

"Have you ever hurt a beast before?" I asked. "Look me in the eye and tell me."

She swallowed. "No, m'lord."

"You have never raised a paw against another beast?"

"No, m'lord." Her eyes were still stretched wide with apprehension, but I could not detect any trace of a lie in them. There was no hesitation, no stray in her gaze, nothing to mark her words as false.

"Not even your family?" I pressed, keeping my breathing light so that I could avoid her fetid breath. "Or your own brother or sister?"

I saw the truth before the words came: "No, m'lord." When she blinked, I saw pain flash across her eyes.

Frightened by the public, threatened by Sword, and more than likely bullied by her family. Her entire life, she had lived under the thumb of other creatures and lived by only one code - stay hidden, be docile, do as you are told. Ironically, it was that demeaning rule that saved her from Sword's culling process. A creature like Scala was a broken one, but most importantly, she was a harmless one.

My evaluation was done.

"I cannot assure you that I will not notify Sword," I said, slowly retreating back to a more comfortable distance. "But I may know of a way to spare you."

"Anythin', m'lord," she said with renewed hope. "Anythin' at all."

"But, my lord!"

I turned to Canning. "Do that, and you'd be on bad terms with Sword," he said, stopping to look at the weasel in apology.

"Gotta agree with Canning, here," the shrew said with a tilt of his head. "She's nothing but trouble."

"You are here to follow my orders," I reminded them frostily, "not to give advice."

Canning spoke up next. "But your father-"

"I will explain all of this to my father tomorrow after the tournament." The guards were silent at that. I turned back to Scala and I saw instantly that her faith in my subordinates had plummeted.

"I give the orders here," I reassured her. "They will keep you a secret if I demand it." She gave me an apprehensive smile.

"I will keep you a secret," I said. "But you must give me something in return. I am sure that you have heard of the pleasure maidens that have disappeared. You have heard the rumors?"

"Yes, m'lord." She nodded her head in three jerky motions, her hood slapping against her skull as she did so.

"What information can you give me?"

"I... I..." Her eyes flashed as she glanced around the room and at us. "There's talk..."

"Of course there's talk," I said with suppressed frustration. "Always, everybeast knows something to help this kingdom but stays silent about it. What is there to hide?"

"I dunno, m'lord." She swallowed slowly, flicking her gaze around the room before she whispered, "Th' brothels by th' river. The whores stay 'way from 'e river now."

"Why the river?" I asked.

"Dunno, m'lord. But a thief notices crowds'n where 'ey go. Whores stay 'way from 'e river now." Thoughts boiled in my mind and I expelled them with a heavy exhale. That sort of information was something that should have been brought to my attention by the civilians, not interrogated out of a hapless fugitive. It seemed that my list of gripes against Darry's Hill was ever growing.

"Bu' be careful, m'lord," she cautioned. "Maids _are _goin' missin', an' 'e beast who's doin' it ain't gonna let up easy."

"I am in command of the Otterguard," I reminded her. "It is my duty to bring justice, dangerous or not. Now, what else can you tell me about him?"

"Not much," she whispered hastily. "Only tha' 'e goes after maids. I'm sorry, m'lord, but that's all's I know."

"Any rumors on what he does to the maids?"

The weaselwife shook her head. "Some say 'e kills 'em, some say he puts a curse on 'em, but he's too rich fer that. Go' a mind fer coin, I'm thinkin'. A dead whore is a useless one, s'they migh' be alive."

"Any leads on where they might be kept?"

Again, she shook her head. "No, m'lord. Only, be careful." Silence followed and then she added, "There. I did as you asked, m'lord."

I nodded. "Yes. Yes, you did well." The corners of her mouth twisted into a thin and pitiful smile. "I will look into your situation and you might prove useful to me. Sword might want you still, but if my needs for you are greater you might be able to maintain your position." I could tell that she had little understanding of my words, but she drew hope from them regardless.

"Thank ye! Thank ye, m'lord!" She nearly sprang to her footpaws. "I dunno 'ow t'pay ye!"

"Then repay me with any news of the kidnappings," I ordered.

She stopped smiling and once again looked around the tiny shack as though she could find an excuse in the corners. Finally, she whispered, "Yes, m'lord."

I sighed and made to leave. Not a word was said until my guard placed a paw on the door. I half-turned to the wide-eyed weasel on the ground and the child that lay underneath her blankets.

"Keep looking for more information on the subject," I instructed. "Do so and you shall be paid handsomely. I will visit sporadically to investigate these disappearances, so we will be in touch."

_Father's reaction to this news will determine the manner of my next visit,_ I thought to myself. _For your sake, I hope he is in a favorable mood to listen to your plight._

"Thank ye, m'lord," she said softly as she struggled to get up with her son in her arms. "Bu' stay safe, m'lord. I wouldn't wan' ya t'git hurt." She looked to Brasser and Canning. "Stay safe, officers."

"Kind of you, lass," the mouse replied.

"Hmph," Brasser shrugged. "No need t' worry about me so long as I have this." He pat his hip so that the hilt of his blade bounced against his body.

I gave her a regarding look before saying, "Every few days, check one of the piles of rubble just outside this alleyway. I will have one of my guards leave you a sack of provisions for your service. Just make sure you look after the infant and keep him hidden as best you can. No doubt that you are no stranger to the cruelties of impoverished beasts."

_The promise of free meals should be enough to convince you not to relocate._

"Yes, m'lord. Thank ye, m'lord," she piped. There was an almost imperceptible movement underneath the blanket and I swore that she had pinched her child. The babe set up another thin mewling sound and I grit my teeth at her play of pity. But still, she was nothing more than a waif of a beggar only a season older than Corinne. That moment was probably one of her only glimpses of charity, so she had little experience in accepting gifts with grace.

_Father would think me a fool._ I dug into my pocket and tossed five Silvers onto the dirt in front of her before my guard closed the door behind me.

* * *

**C/N: Miss TeaLeaf has always been one to provoke debates on philosophy and morality. This chapter, as you might be well aware, is another example of her inciting intellectual thought. After all that was said and done, she is curious as to your opinion on the matter. Sword has plenty to offer to the vermin population but has a tendency to destroy more than it rebuilds.**

**Scala did not deserve to lose her firstborn, be imprisoned by Sword, or to be 'wed' to a stranger as mere breeding stock. And please, do not misinterpret my leniency towards the vermin as some redemption from the last chapter. I know what each of you had written in your reviews, and no, that had nothing to do with this turn of events. I simply saw a beast in distress and decided to aid it in a reasonable fashion.**

**Now, f you could be so kind, please submit your opinion of this chapter. A review is greatly appreciated by the characters and the writer, and raises morale. In addition, reviews are an excellent way to publish your thoughts on Scala's situation, the course of action I should have taken, and ways to improve Sword's twisted rehabilitation program. Tear the organization down and burn it, if you ask me.**

**With that, I will take my leave. There is work to be done, after all.**


	24. Hold Down the Fort

**A/N: Special thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter- Saraa Luna, ferretWARLORD, Free Thought, and Professor Evans. Thanks a bunch, guys! :)  
**

**This chapter was a tough one to write as well because there is a lot of info-dumping in it. I really had to make sure that everything made sense and didn't sound outlandish... while making character connections clearer. It's a tough job, so please let me know if I'm not doing it right or if you're confused. Is it enough to say that you must read this chapter closely?**

* * *

**Hold Down the Fort**  
Asch Waycaster

_"A single grain of rice can tip the scale. One man may be the difference between victory and defeat."_ - Mulan

* * *

The hedgehog announcer stood on the tips of his toes as he crowed the news.

"Ladies and gentlebeasts, your champion- OOOOOORIEL!"

That time, I chose to play the crowd. I whooped and clapped, nodding at them while I approached the seats and waved my arms in command for them to cheer even louder.

"OR-I-EL! OR-I-EL!"

I cupped a paw around my ear and leaned forward.

**"OR-I-EL! OR-I-EL!"**

The audience was more than double what it was last time. Beasts had stood on the aisleways to watch the tournament, clamoring over each other just to get a better look at the champion otter of chivalry. I was elated; the air roiled with their energy and jolted up my blood. I dashed to the other side of the arena and thrust my arms in the air, and that entire section roared and went wild with frenzy.

I laughed, kissing the tips of both my paws before holding them out to the audience as though spreading my blessing by wind. I couldn't help but go into another bout of theatrics when I saw maids swoon and do the same to me. T'was real fancy and all, but there was only one maid on my mind.

I crossed through the center of the arena, nodding in respect to the other contestants. And Egan! _Especially _Egan! Nothing would've made him angrier. Egan Stalwart of Triel snorted despite his bloody nose and aimed a phlegm-pile at my footpaws. I danced away quick enough and served him up a cheeky bow, earning a peal of laughter from the audience.

The herald hedgehog tried to clap me on my back, but I feigned ignorance and spun out of his way. Couldn't risk him rubbing my disguise off and all- especially when I was sweating up a storm. To make it a little more complicated, some of the suitors even tried t'shake my paw. It was awkward, rejecting something friendly from a woodlander in front of everybeast. I just bowed while they stood dumbstruck and I told 'em that it was just my way o' doing things. Some bowed back a bit but most of 'em frowned.

Didn't matter.

With all that formality out of the way, I had one last thing to do. I breezed over to the balcony that held the Swalestroms and bent on one knee. When I looked up, I saw General Dirk lingering the balcony exit before nodding and leaving. It was unusual, but I didn't think anything of it. He was a busy beast, after all. I drew my attention to Lady Corinne who was wedged between Lord Keetch and some other noble otterlady. The young maid was grinning and her companion whispered in her ear. Whatever they said, it made m'lady giggle.

I looked to the sidelines and ushered a squire over to me. The mouse rushed up like his life depended on it and gave me the red rose, still in its same perfect condition since I handed it to him.

"My lady," I shouted, no ottery accent or nothing. I wasn't sure if she could here me above the din of my admirers, but I didn't care. I held up the trimmed rose so that she could see the brilliant red hue that bubbled with petals. "The last time I fought for you, you gave me a token of your gratitude. Now, please! Allow me to give you a token of _my_ gratitude - for allowing me to gaze upon your happy face."

With a flick of my wrist, the gift went sailing between our distance, leaves and petals and secret message and all. Lady Corinne held up both paws to receive it. The tip of the stem bounced once on her palm, the flower bumbled against her wrist, and she finally caught its stem in the inside of her elbow. Like it wasn't even awkward, she plucked it from the crook of her arm and breathed in the aroma. Her lips moved and I imagined that she said "thank you" as she clutched her prize.

Of course, we both knew it was more than just a gift. We were to meet, after all. In three days' time, the flower would shed and reveal the message I'd written on the innermost petals. My chest was practically bursting with anticipation. My cheeks ached from all my smiling and, with another flourish of bows, I raced off to the exit only t'be stopped by some Otterguards- five spilling in from each of the four archways that led out of the arena.

The cheering subsided for a second before rising into a thousand whispers and questions. Time hung over me in that instant.

I stole a pleading glance at Lady Corinne, but she was already on her footpaws and shouting something to her father while she squeezed the rose in her paws. In fact, half the Swalestrom balcony was practically spinning their heads, tryin' like crazy to understand while they tried to calm each other down. Even Lord Keetch's stone-stoic face was in shock. Only the Skipper of the Otterguard, Lord Galen, ignored all this and watched me with clenched jaws.

And General Dirk was... not even there. I nearly screamed in panic and frustration. Him leaving was a warning to me. He'd told me that beasts would try t'figure me out, but I didn't think it would be in the arena. It was against the rules.

Suddenly, Lord Galen Swalestrom stood up, his red uniform absorbing the warmth around him while his brass buttons and medals glittered like frost. "Oriel!" he boomed. The Otterguards grew bolder by his voice and approached me even faster. A hurricane tore through my blaring mind as I raked myself for options.

"All orders of the Otterguard are decrees of the crown-"

A second glance-over told me that all the arena exits were cut off by Lord Swalestrom's beasts.

"-and you have ignored all orders by his majesty, King Darian, to reveal your true identity to the Otterguard."

All I had was my short sword, and that wouldn't do!

"We don't wish to harm ya, lad. Not in any trouble at all. You've made a grand show of it all and we just want to talk."

But there were ten other exits that I could use, each of them filled with an audience too stunned to react. I still had my short sword, but that wasn't enough. I remember thinkin' to myself that if I could just get to the sidelines where they kept their weapons, I stood a chance.

"Lad?" the Skipper of the Otterguard sounded unsure all of a sudden. "Now don't start getting any w-"

I sped off to the Southeast corner of the square arena and practically up-ended the tent with entrance. The squires squealed and retreated to the corners while I yanked a javelin from the stands. A dozen other weapons toppled from their places in a clanging jingle that made me wince. I tore through the other end of the little blue tent and nearly blundered into an Otterguard.

He held a mace in both paws and nearly had me in mid-swing. I ducked with barely a whisker's distance to spare before shoving his clumsy body straight into the guard behind him. They fell in a tangle of limbs and chainmail while I spun out of another attack. The crowd's booing filled my ears as more beasts flung themselves at me.

Both my paws gripped the javelin as I arced about with every roll of my shoulders. My muscles pushed and pulled, stretched and strained and I found myself crying out "GANGWAAAAAY!"

I parried a strike one moment and delivered a blunt-end blow in the next, keeping my distance as I jabbed and dodged and wheeled my weapon about. Two against one, three against one, four! I didn't want to hurt anybeast, but I was more worried about 'em hurting _me._ I spun and squatted all at once and the shaft of my weapon slapped a mouse in the ankles. The creature howled as he fell, but I took the moment to trample over him and catch a beast's arm in mid-swing. I didn't even hesitate to yank it out of its socket before I bolted.

Rust-colored dust filled the air as the audience yelled and gasped and fixated themselves on panic. They wanted to stay to watch but I wanted to get the hell outta there. Besides our opinion of stay-or-go, another difference between me and the public was the ten-foot jump from the ground to the front seat. In the middle of that space stood a buffering stone wall that gave the onlookers a better view and some protection.

My heart thrummed like a hummingbird and it felt like every one of my innards was pulsing with it.

"GANGWAAAAY!" I shouted again, charging the wall with all my speed. That time, beasts listened and the closest spectators scrambled away from my direction. In one savage rotation of my body, I planted the butt of my javelin into the ground; in the blink of an eye, my form slinked and coiled itself tight. And then, like a longbow snapping into an arrow, I yanked every muscle into one burst of motion that dislodged me from the javelin and vaulted me up into the air and crashing into the benches.

Something slapped my back and knocked the wind clear outta my chest. The second thing I felt was my left elbow smashin' against wood. Third, the stinging pain that radiated from above my tail.

I lay there face up and groaning, spoilin' my time as I tried to suck the air back into my battered lungs. My chest burned and I could barely breathe through my coughs. I was on the floor and the first things I noticed was the sun glaring down on me. My legs were thrown over a bench as though somebeast had carelessly tossed them there. Carefully, I rolled onto my knees and pulled myself up to my footpaws. Like a baby bird learning to walk, I stumbled a few gawky steps, crumbling against the seats.

"Get it together!" I screamed aloud. "Gates! Get it together!"

None of the civilians touched me. That was the good news. The bad news was the sound of shouting that plowed its way through the masses. I jerked myself back upright and half-stumbled, half-ran up the stairs and to the exits. In half a minute, I was shoving myself out the exit. In one minute, I had my balance back and was out of the stadium. In five, I was walking as calmly as I could in Southsward Square while Otterguards scrambled around like headless pigeons.

In twenty minutes, I'd slipped into a lifeless, wooded pond and scraped _every_ last fleck of my disguise off my fur. The paint, the pieces of clay on my face, the fake wad of tail extension, _everything._

Five minutes after that, I was sitting by the bank as I cupped my head in my paws and tried to stop shaking.

* * *

I was sore by the time I dragged m'self back to Riddian Square and past the scorpion exhibit that Sword was so proud of. Three times a beast's length and reared up on its back legs with its tail curled into a wicked hook, it brought in a bunch of civilian attention. But in the gathering dark, it seemed to twitch to life in the corner of beasts' eyes. I changed my path to swerve around the thing as I wondered if I was gonna get thrown around like this _every_ month.

It didn't take me long to make it back to the general's office. He was probably long expectin' me, itchin' to say things and all. When I got to the doors, Abon's face was grim as a frog's and Forsie breathed a sigh of relief.

"Practically had me ripping my bally ears off, Asch!" he said. "Too close, wot!"

I shrugged and pulled the corners of my lips into a smile. "Got it covered, mates."

"Just take your Crazy down a peg," Abon muttered, wrinkling his smashed face as he pushed on the door. "I want to die in a battle or drowned in ale. A heart attack is no way to kick it."

"Sure, sure."

The door creaked open to reveal the a room set on the ghostly glow of lamps. Inside were maps strewn over tables, some crumpled on the floor to collect dust. To the immediate right of the entrance, Dirk was standing between the window and the desk.

"Asch." It wasn't a greeting or a summon. He said it like somebeast reminding himself of one extra thing on a grocery list.

I snapped a salute to him. "Anybeast who says you don't put your beasts to work is a liar," I said. Then, "Heh."

The old sea otter just collapsed onto his chair and leaned back, smothering his battle-scarred face with both paws. "I'm sorry, son. Didn't think Gale'd be so rash t'do somethin' like that. That stupid otter!" he growled at his desk, though I felt the words were somehow meant for me. "And you! Next time, take a hint. Did ya think I just left the stadium in a rush because I had t' leak on a bush?"

I winced and couldn't look him in the eye. "I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

"Prancing around and riling a crowd! What did I tell ya?"

"Get in, get out," I recited. "Get in, get out."

"Yeah," he said dryly. "Get in, get out._"_

"I'm sorry, sir. Just got... in the moment."

"This isn't a game."

"I know it isn't."

"Then grow up." We stood in silence as he leaned over his desk and rubbed his temples.

"Well sir, what was all that about, anyways?" I asked softly.

He snorted. "The Skipper of the Otterguard has got the stink-eye for ya! That's what it's about!"

"I know that sir. But I mean, well, _why_. I haven't done anythin' wrong. The rules for tournaments was that every _suitor_ needs t'give his real name. The lady's champion isn't a suitor. Everybeast knows that."

"You're right," he said, "'cept that Lord Galen changed the rules."

"Change the rules? But that-"

"-requires the permission from the king," Dirk finished as he removed the paws from his face. His eyes seemed like dusty pewter buttons. I'd never seen him look so tired.

"But-"

"Every one of The Five 'cept for me is rootin' for Egan," he scowled. "All they had t'do was gang up on Darian and _boom!_ -" He smacked both paws together- "you've got a fancy new law. Made it official just a'fore the tournament."

"B-but you're part of The Five, too. You're in on the council and-"

"And those _bilgerats_ had private meetings without me!" He slammed a fist against his bureau and threw a heavy, wooden bookend at the far wall. It rammed into the bricks before skittering on the floor and back to its master as if in apology for whatever wrong it'd done. I winced and looked back at him, my mind swimming with questions and that stupid, stupid panic.

He saw the searching look in my eyes and answered for me. "They kept me outta the loop for at least three days, deciding on who t'push on Darian. When they pulled a last-minute council _right_ a'fore the tournament, I should'a known somethin' wasn't right. Didn't even get a chance t'warn ya proper." He shook his head. "T'those nitwits, Egan means peace b'tween Triel and Southsward. Huh! Remind me again how peace-like he is!"

"But..." I dug my brains for another hole in Lord Galen's authority. "But he brought armed guards'n everythin' to the arena. Only contestants can use 'em. The arena is the _sacred_ ground o' truce between the Southern realms!"_  
_

"But the tournament was officially over when they stepped in," Dirk said pointedly as he stared at the waxing moon that hung outside the window. I opened my mouth to say more, but all I found was a lump in my throat. The candle lights flickered and, standing in the room with me, for every shadow there was one doubt.

"Then what are we gonna do?"

A deep sigh. "I'll think on it. It was just too close this time and they didn't expect you to run. This was just the third tournament and we need to win five." He hung his head and let it swing like a pendulum. "Lord Keetch could have another go at playing Corinne's champion, but that's no guarantee. Huh... There _must_ be a way 'round 'em. They find out what y'are, it's all over. For you and for her." I didn't need to ask to know what that meant. The lords threw a fit when I was in the counsel room, so I didn't need much imagination t'figure out their thoughts 'bout a vermin fighting in a noble tournament.

"I want t' keep goin'," I put in. Not like I had a choice anyways. The general needed some reassurance right then, like how a stone wall needs a wooden beam to prop it upright. Doesn't do much, but it didn't hurt either.

The gruff old beast in front of me raised a brow and said, "Well I'm glad I have you t'count on, Asch."

_You count on me t'do stuff, but I count on you for direction._

"It's not just you," I said. "It's Lady Corinne too. Her whole life is goin' down the sinkhole if she marries Lord Stalwart."

Dirk gave a low whistle. "That's an underestimation." Sitting sideways from me and facing the window, he perched an elbow on his desk and tilted his head toward me. "Goin' down the sinkhole is when y'lose a chunk o' your life savings on some drunken gamble. If she goes to Triel, half the beasts in both kingdoms will be slaughtered and the rest'll be scarred one way or the other."

"W-what do you mean, sir?"

He grabbed the arms of his chair and went one quarter-rotation to face me. "There's something I've gotta tell ya 'bout Triel. This is sensitive information, so don't go spewing your guts to anyone about this."

* * *

I sat there and listened to him talk about everything. Southsward, Triel, Lady Corinne, King Garmund, what the spy heard, everything.

_Southsward at war with Triel..._

And the only thing they were waiting for was Lady Corinne. I sat in front of him, my throat thick and slick. The great Oriel, not just the defender of a lady, but also the protector of a realm straddling war. I was waiting for Dirk to laugh at me for being duped so easily, but the general didn't like to joke about Triel.

It was nothing to joke about. I'd seen the history of Gideon's War chiseled on the sides of belltowers. Fort Riddian on fire, bodies stretched over the farmlands, a picture of one soldier stabbin' into a downed, arched body. There was one where Trielian soldiers were ransacking a house, throwing heirlooms and cracking small, oval-shaped bundles against the ground. It was only when I had traced the shapes with a claw that I realized the bundles had faces.

No. Nothing to joke about.

"Why are you telling me this?" I whispered.

"It's not a game anymore. Galen and the other lords are making it tougher on you," he said. "Now it's up to _us_ to make it tougher on _them_."

"You have t'tell them about the war, sir!"

"Already did, and got singed for it."

"What? Well, doesn't anybeast see the danger they're in?" I gaped. But Dirk just shook his head.

"What's there to see but my word?" he said with a tilt to his head. "The word of my spies? Numbers? Triel's army is getting stronger, but so is Sword's. Kingdoms always grow, war or not."

"Triel started a war before," I pointed out. "What makes 'em think they aren't capable of doing it again?"

"Oho!" His lips twisted into a smile. General Dirk smiled a lot, but most of the time they weren't the happy kind. "They know they're capable, but there's a difference between being able and actually _doin'_ the deed. They think that there's nothing for Triel to gain from a war? Wrong. So very, very wrong. King Garmund is a horrible sore-loser, but the rest of The Five don't see it. They see something else when they see our 'sister' kingdom." He spat the word "sister" as if it were a filthy curse.

"The fools in the court have lived cushioned lives in the days of plenty and harvest, before Southsward revolted against Triel. The things we'd get back if we were back on Triel's good side - reopened trading roads, connections between towns, a reason to rebuild abandoned settlements, imports of spices and fruits. They're the link to the Western isles, Asch. The only big trade we get are the Parmans, and don't those bastards know it!"

But Parma was always on friendly terms with us, I wanted to say.

"The Parmans are the key to the Eastern isles and we need them more than they need us. Little by little, they squeeze the market prices on us. What King Darian's other lords figure," he said, "is that Southsward could once again be the great path of trade a'tween Triel and Parma."

Well, that would've been convenient. Triel and Parma were probably tired of using Obring Strait for a trade route. It was double the distance. Southsward at peace with Triel! It wasn't about friendship or any of those frilly things the lords say. It was all about keeping Southsward in the loop and out of Parma's pockets.

"They're optimists, which means they're idiots," the sea otter finished.

"They'll have to understand you at some point," I reiterated. He didn't need to hear it, but I wanted him to know that I understood. "Sir, you don't have proof, but it makes _perfect_ sense about Lady Corinne. Dangle her in front of Lord Galen, and he'll stop in his tracks. You're her godfather, you'd hold back too." In defense of the kingdom or not, I hoped he would.

"Southsward's fighters tied in a knot," I said.

"Don't you think I already tried that?"

"Keep trying, sir?" I offered weakly.

"Dammit, you can't always change minds like that." His voice was sharp and I realized that I'd ground down his patience with all my nagging. "You think it's like begging your parents for a toy at the market? That if you keep whining, they'd give in just so you could shut your mouth?"

I looked down. "No, sir." He calmed down at that. Well, he calmed down for a moment before going on with his tirade. I didn't mind. Easier t'be the listener than the beast with the problems. I was just sorry that Dirk had to shoulder the troubles in the first place.

"What's more is that Gale thinks that this is for _my _ profit - that I'd _hope_ for war!" he growled. "A ploy for me to gain more control and sway over the council."

_That's not fair,_ I agreed silently. I should've said that, but instead I said, "A war will happen because _one_ maid drifts over the border?"

"It might sound crazy," the general said, "but consider that it was the death of a _whore_ that landed us in Gideon's War all those seasons back. Now imagine what it would be like with a highborn lady's death. King Garmund is a sore loser, all right. He'd burn both kingdoms to the ground if he could dance on our ashes."

I nodded at that. I didn't want it to be true. Gates, no. I was just one beast- a vermin at that. Hah! A _vermin_ keeping the peace?! Insanity! The kind of irony I'd find in the theater.

"You think you can handle all this?" he asked, breaking the miserable silence.

S'not like I had a choice, but I still hated the thought of crushing her dreams and letting the general down. Oh, and let's not forget about the impending warfare looming over Southsward!

I took a deep breath and held a paw against my forehead in salute as I repeated Sword's mantra: "I can because I will."

"Good lad." His voice had a reassurance to it, a kind of warmth. "I've always been able to depend on you."

"Yessir."

"And not a word o' this to anybeast, remember?"

"Yessir." I thought a minute. "But how're we gonna fix the problem with the Otterguard? It'll be tougher next time, won't it?"

"Leave the thinkin' to me," he said softly. "For now, I think you need a bit of normalness in your life. Between training, the tournaments, and bodyguarding, your unit misses you." Fidchell, Barlow, and Red. In a way, I missed them too. They were happy to see my promotion to bodyguard-in-training, but their sparring scores must've suffered without me to help 'em out. For all I knew, their rankings slipped because of it. Cripes. And after that scorpion incident, I had just gotten Red to like me and I wondered if the friendly respect was still holdin' up.

Fidchell, I missed the most, though. Woodlanders (especially Forsie and every hare in the realm) kinda had a way of turning chit-chat into a form of torture. Never had that kind of problem with Fidchell.

"In fact, you're scheduled for settlement patrol duty in a few days," the general reminded me. A settlement patrol wasn't bad. A little bit of travelin' around the outskirts and talkin' to suspicious farmers, but they lasted about five days.

"How many days until patrol, sir?"

The general was already leafing through the papers on his desk and cursing the signature lines on each parchment. He broke away from his misery to process my question before submitting himself back to his most hated enemy. "Check with Birger." He frisked a pen over the paper and left a long, squiggly, impatient line.

"The thing is, sir," I began, "is that I have prior arrangements on the next full moon."

"Full moon?" he repeated, squinting over the text in a report. "Sounds like you've told me this before. What's so special about that, again?"

"Gotta help Ma watch her shop for the Night Market." _Have a little meet-up with Lady Corinne. At least, _if _she got my message __all right. Wait! What if she threw the rose away? She'd never figure out the message then. What if I timed it all wrong? What if she never looked at the rose at the right time? No..._

The general's voice yanked me outta my mental self-torture. "Can't your mother do this stuff on her own?" His eyes still never strayed far from the reports and dictations. "You haven't been part of the Night Market in months."

"Birger has his own settlement patrol, so he won't be home. I'd hate to leave her all by herself, sir." There was a slight pause. "And winter's coming on, so we're bound t' be in good business... busy time, 'cause... y'know, we sell quilts'n all." All that was truth, anyways. I felt my conscience dig a sharp, fat claw into my chest. I hated lying to the general, but it was a harmless lie. Besides, I thought, I'll be careful with Lady Corinne. The invisible claw lightened up a bit but it still ached.

"Well what do you suppose _I _do?" asked the general. "Why didn't you check your damn schedule?"

"I thought I'd be bodyguardin' you, sir," I admitted. "I'm sorry. I just got caught up in all of this stuff and I was thrown off course a bit. Sorry, sir. Won't happen again." He glanced at me and returned his gaze to his bureau. _Please don't make me cancel on her ladyship. Please don't make me cancel on her ladyship._ I didn't know how I'd tell her any bad news. She'd be standing out in Southsward Square all night just waiting for Oriel_._

_Why didn't you check the schedule, you idiot?!_ my mind screamed at me.

"Fine," he said begrudgingly. "Only 'cause you got all banged up today."

"Thank you, sir."

"Wasn't a compliment," he said gruffly. My smile faded. "For an average beast, you did great. But you're not an average beast. For a warrior of your caliber, you did some pretty shoddy work of the Otterguard. You'd do better refreshing on battle trainin' with your unit rather than tromping around on patrol." I didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. For the general's sake, I pretended to be in a state o' self-loathing.

Must've overdid it, because the sea otter scowled at my expression. "Yeah, yeah. Enough o' the act. I know how much you hate patrol duty."

I let my face relax into something chipper but neutral, like I'd passed a physical examination. "Yessir."

"Gates," he groaned. "I'll have t' drag another unit into settlement patrol. I hope you're damn well happy, 'cause I'm sure not." I sent a silent apology to the cheated Swordbeasts, but I saved the rest of the pity for m'self. It wouldn't be long until they found out that the general's _favorite_ was the one that put them on an extra chore. Contempt was something I was used to, inside and outside the fort, but it still stung.

"You'll train from dawn 'til well past dusk for this," he grumbled, exacting his revenge in the form of punishment. "I'll even have you train the children more'n a couple times. And deduct from your stipend too."

"Yessir. Sorry, sir."

"Great, now get the hell outta here."

"Yessir." I stood and saluted to him before I left out the door. That meeting was sour, but I got what I wanted. My victory was pretty pathetic, though. It only lasted five seconds before I reminded myself about the stakes and the war dangling over my head.

_But still,_ breathed a voice in my head, _if one maid is all it takes to spring a war, maybe one beast is enough to hold down the peace._

* * *

**C/N: No, trust me. I'm just about as lost as you are right now. :( It's kind of Jade's job to make sure it makes sense to you guys, so please let me know if you think that there's something she needs to spiff up in this chapter. Did it make sense how my secret message to Lady Corinne would work? How Lord Galen changed the laws? Why beasts want to be buddy-buddy with Triel? There are still a bunch o' holes to fill when it comes to the past, but we're filling 'em up at the best kind of rate we can give.**

**And ah, Lady Corinne. Huh? No! I'm not in love. I'm just curious, is all.**


	25. Begrudging Bride

**A/N: Special thanks to those who reviewed since the last update - Saraa Luna, Quaver Ava, Free Thought, Professor-Evans, and SgtHolton. This chapter was difficult to write, as the Character Notes will explain. On the plus side, it's the first one in a while that hasn't exceeded 5,000 words! Woohoo!  
**

* * *

**Begrudging Bride**  
Lord Keetch Swalestrom

_"Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go according to any rules. They're not like aches or wounds, they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material."_ - F. Scott Fitzgerald

* * *

My father gave up the search for the Edgewise Knight after the first hour, cursing profusely as he did so. He did not call off the search, but I could already tell that he had lost much of his resolve and confidence. My sister's freedom was safe for yet another month, but the Otterguard was like a new joke to the public. The Skipper of the Otterguard had put on a challenge in the stadium and got bullied out of a victory.

"A score of my Otterguard beaten by one warrior," Father had seethed, leaning over a well-marked map. "Have they all gone fat and soft on me?"

At that point, I had finished giving the last of my orders and turned to him. _This is what happens when you hide things from me,_ I wanted to say. But that would have done him no good. Empty reassurances were quite useless as well, so I corrected him on his numbers.

"He beat only a pawful of them and vaulted his way to escape." The statement was a gentle one, though my father ignored the comment. I looked about and saw that we were practically alone outside the stadium. The civilians had given us a wide berth and there was not an idle Otterguard in sight. I supposed that moment was a good a time as any.

"Father, I -"

"I know you have your questions, but _not now_," he warned. I gaped at the inflection of his words; it was not rare by any means, but he hardly ever directed that tone towards me. It was insensitive, I supposed, trying to wheedle information out of him while he was under such stress. Hundreds of beasts were questioning his skills and methods. He did not need the same from a member of his family. So, as any son should, I took it upon myself to drive some of the search parties throughout the otter-populated areas.

By the time we had officially abandoned the search, it was nearly sundown. I had spent all my time on fruitless patrols while my father had gone elsewhere to give commands. Once I was dismissed from duty, I decided to pay my family a visit. There was little doubt that Corinne and my mother were already beginning to interrogate him.

I did not feel like waiting for my carriage to pick me up, so I hurried along to Castle Terrace as quickly as I could. The taverns were alight with bawdy laughter, mothers called the last of their children inside, and cart bells tinkled hollowly as peddlers retreated to their homes. Those were the distant and calming sounds of Southsward's night, so you can imagine my surprise when I came home to bustling halls and servants zipping about like flies.

The flock of serving beasts were so busy and flustered, in fact, that the doorbeast nearly forgot to take my effects.

"What is the meaning of this?" I asked as he folded the cloak over a forearm.

"Lord Keetch, it seems as though Lord Galen has invited the suitors to the estate for a grand feast," he answered with a hint of frustration.

"Feast? You mean supper," I corrected him. The participants of the tourney were all guests within the Swalestrom residence until they chose to depart for their own homes. Feasts were not an uncommon thing, but it was rare for one to sprout up at the last second. Those things could not be thrown together haphazardly; they required at least seven days of planning - for everybeasts' sake, guest and servants alike.

"No," he sniffed. "I mean to say that Lord Swalestrom invited all twelve of the suitors to come to a well-furbished dining hall to eat a twelve-course meal with his family."

"Why was I not told about this?"

"He had just sent the invitation before sundown," he replied. I saw that he was looking elsewhere, probably in the direction of a task that needed his attention. I dismissed him and cut through the shoal of servants and straight into the dining room. Though my father's staff was in complete disarray throughout the rest of the estate, the dining hall maintained its typical state of serenity.

"Ah, there he is!" my father chortled, loud enough to capture everybeasts' attention. "We've saved you a seat, son!" I looked about the room and at all those curious faces peering back at me. Half of them (such as Egan) were boorish creatures who did not deserve to set foot in Swalestrom property; the other half were none of my concern.

I nodded, gave a clipped "hello" and laid claim to the empty seat beside my wife. "When did you get here?" I whispered to her.

"I only just got the invitation a short while ago," she answered. Flustered as she was by the sudden occasion, she was faring far better than myself. I took some time to immerse my thoughts in the situation, scanning the guests and skimming the conversations. It was bad enough that I had just discovered the feast. It was worse to find myself under-dressed compared to all the other attendants. Even the servants' garb looked comparable to my work-worn Otterguard uniform. I took a moment to tug at my sleeves and tunic, straightening the wrinkles the best I could.

Ayda tapped at my wrist. "Don't worry," she whispered. "Everybeast's got eyes on Corinne anyways." It was true. Corinne, dressed in a white-laced gown looked untouchable and serene amongst the talkative company.

But though the reason for all the guests being there, she was beside herself in silence. She paused only to grace a suitor with a curt answer, whisper in Gavin's ear, or send the quickest of glares in my father's direction. To the suitors, the event was a sudden act of generosity from the Swalestrom family. To those who knew the truth, however, the event was my father's diversion - a way of procuring meat shields than conversationalists.

I watched as my father roared with laughter from the head of the table, taking much solace in the company of others. The questions might have been dangling on the tip of my tongue, but they had no choice but to remain there until the guests had to turned in for the night. _Very well then,_ I said to myself. _A lord is patient._

The dinner was a mixture of ease and tenseness, the air thick with chatter - beasts speaking aimlessly if only to beat back the hollow silence. I was always known to be a solemn creature, so nobeast took it to heart when I remained tight-lipped. Corinne and my lady mother, however, had their patience challenged by the guests at every turn. It did not take a trained socialite to see Corinne's sulk hidden beneath her quivering smile.

"Oriel!" somebeast snorted. "Edgewise Knight! What a _sty-oopid _name." As genial as the suitors had been towards Oriel earlier that day, they expressed a certain level of contempt for him at the table.

"The peasant's dream, they call him."

"A pauper?"

"Well it's no wonder he has won so far," another snubbed. "Lowborns brawl in the streets over the tiniest scraps. Imagine all the practice he's had."

"Running away from the king's law," one muttered with a sad shake of his head. "Maybe he didn't know any better?"

"Well it was a good thing that Oriel creature tucked his tail and ran when he did," Egan interjected, carving a slab of pigeon breast with a vengeance. "If he was any slower, I'd have had his heart skewered on the end of my sword and sliced from shoulder to groin," he said with a tiny flick of his knife.

_Indeed,_ I thought to myself. _When badgers fly._

Corinne was seated next to Egan, rigid as she kept her eyes on her dish while he spoke to her - no doubt about his many bloody achievements - brutal things that most males talked about, such as ruthless sparring and noble hunts on harmless pigeons. I suppose he was a charming sort of fellow, in his own violent way.

Perhaps that was what maids wanted in males. There was a reason why females swooned at the idea of a valiant warrior, as evidenced by their reaction to Oriel earlier that day. I am neither female nor insane, so I cannot possibly understand (thankfully).

Still, there was something about Egan that seemed particularly cruel. I am not speaking in contempt because he had bested me in paw-to-paw combat during the first tournament. He seemed to enjoy beating other beasts - not out of competitive sportsmanship, but in demeaning the pained opponent - as if he were exacting justice.

"Don't you agree, Lord Keetch?"

I looked up and saw the Egan's bruised face looking expectantly at me; a few of his surrounding suitors shadowed his challengingly questioning expression. I swallowed my food. "Pardon? What was it you said?"

"Only that the Oriel beast needs to be put in his place," he sneered before he gulped from a goblet of wine. He looked to me and his supporters, ignoring Corinne while he slandered her representative. "A peasant! Not even knighted. Only nobles and well-bred knights should be a part of these sorts of tournaments. In addition to the maid's champion being identified, nobility should be a requirement. Let a lowborn flea partake, and soon they will be crawling out of the woodwork thinking that they could do better than their station."

My father pretended not to hear. Instead, he laughed at another conversation and told the serving maid to compliment the cook. Gavin, having inherited my father's non-confrontational air, followed suit.

"That is a bold statement to make," I replied coolly.

"Yes, yes it is," the brute self-congratulated.

"Especially since the host of this feast was once a... how did you put it? A lowborn flea?" It had a devastating effect on the volume of the dinner table. The discussions instantly halved as Egan gulped thickly and flicked his wrists above his plate as though he had hiccuped.

"I apologize. I did not mean to put it that way."

"Of course not," I replied. "You, insulting a host in his own home. Unsuitable behavior, truly. No, no." I shook my head. "I am sure you were not thinking when you said that."

"I... meant no offense against your father, Lord Keetch," he said. "I mean it. I do hope to be friends. Brother-in-laws, perhaps."

I took a bite out of my fish. "Perhaps." The curt and ambiguous reply made his nostrils flare in frustration.

"But of course we want you as part of the family," my wife interrupted, appeasing to Egan's ego so that my own anger had time to quell. "We hope for a bridge between Swalestrom and Stalwart. You _are_ Lord Swalestrom's first choice, after all." For the first time since my arrival, Egan regarded my wife for more than a second and nodded - a patronizing action an adult would give to a child. I felt Ayda bristle at the gesture, though her countenance did not betray her.

"I hope you don't hold a grudge on me for the minor misunderstanding," said Egan to me.

I smirked in what I hoped was a carefree manner. "A grudge? Believe me, if such a thing were ever to occur, I would let you know... passive aggressively." A phantom smile appeared on Ayda's lips and I realized that I had used her quote. At the very least, we could both agree to hate Egan. The guest, however, sat dazed as he tried to decipher my meaning - insulting, joking, harmless?

Before long, a hot anger flashed over his face before he quenched it with the goblet. It was at that moment that he decided to take his vengeance out on my sister. In her silence, she seemed meek and easy to pry information from.

"And what do you think, my dear lady?" he asked.

She stopped fiddling with her silverware and looked at him with solemn grey eyes. "I wasn't paying attention to you," she said with an indifferent shrug. "What was it you were saying?"

"That lowlife lowborns such as Oriel should be banned from the tournament altogether," he drawled. His brows popped slightly at my father's calm face and added, "Lord Galen, we know nothing about him, so I am to assume that he's a commoner with little things to offer. Clearly, his actions have proven that he's ashamed of his identity. Besides, if he was worth a spit, he would be a part of a worthy cause- like the Otterguard or Sword... Well, never mind Sword. It got swallowed by vermin," he chuckled dryly.

My father breezed through the ugly statement with a lazy wave of his paw. "We lowborns have thick skin when it comes to insults," he smiled. "The one good thing about us is that we can always take honest conversations. Please, don't hold back on this discussion for my sake."

Corinne, however, would have none of it. "If I were you, I would try to consider him a highborn hero, Lord Stalwart," she said. "It would make your two defeats sound a little more admirable." There was an angry sort of patience to her tone, like fury wrapped underneath a glass shield.

"So!" My father gave the table two quick raps. "I hope everybeast's looking forward to our dessert. Eh..." He leaned back and turned his head to one of the waiting servants. "And what's for dessert today, Ambro?"

"Strawberry shortcake with a tint of mint cream," the hedgehog announced with a bow. It was simple. Too simple. I could not blame the kitchen staff, though. They only had a few hours to prepare and they would be scraping the bottoms of barrels by the end of it.

"Our cook makes the best desserts," Gavin chirped, working with Father to salvage the good cheer.

My father's interruption signaled a cease talks of Oriel. The conversations trickled afterwards, rotating around the table while we switched topics, each of us deciding when and where to hop to a different debate. When one group swelled too much, beasts abandoned ship and started their own private island of discussion until others joined in.

It was exhausting.

But, the dinner soon waned to dessert, and we began to leave the table for the servants to pick after.

"My, this was a pleasant get-together," said my mother to the guests. "But it is getting late and I'm sure that you all have a busy day ahead of you." The suitors understood the cue to leave and began to depart for the night. Some went to the door while others retreated up the stairs and towards the guest chambers. Myself? I began to approach my father, but that loathsome Egan cut in front of me, smirking over his shoulder as he began to shower praises around the room. It was only for a few more days that Egan would stay, but he could not leave soon enough.

I caught my wife by her elbow and walked beside her for a brief moment. "Ayda," I whispered. "Would you be so kind as to show Lord Stalwart a few of my family's paintings and exotic vases? He seems so interested in the Swalestrom residence, it would only be right that he should see it in its full majesty... or at least, as much as you can stomach."

"I can stomach plenty," she shrugged, flashing her teeth at me as she did so. "I'm married to you, after all."

I wrinkled my nose slightly. "It was a sincere request."

"Fine, fine," she sighed, breaking away from me to cajole the obnoxious suitor. It took a bit of persuading even for Ayda to peel Egan off of my father, but she managed, as she always did. I walked up from behind and took up stride by my father's side.

"Ah, I was wonderin' when you'd show up," he said before dropping his voice. "I don't know about the Trielians, but _I_ can tell when somebeast's puckering up to my lordy bum."

"Wonderful imagery," I said with stiff sarcasm. "Now please, can you explain to me what happened at the tournament? From what I gather, there is a new law in Southsward?"

My father glanced over at the rest of the family. My mother had Gavin and Corinne by the castle exit so that they could exchange parting words with some of the suitors. She, much like her husband, was in the habit of stalling the upcoming verbal battle. Both of my siblings were quite calm, but underneath Corinne's smile, I could feel her anxiety and rising contempt. As for Ayda, she kept Egan at her side as she showed him my mother's spoon collection. I almost felt a stab of sympathy for the 'lucky' guest.

"Your sister," my father began in a low tone, "is still adamant on keeping Oriel's identity a secret. He is foiling our plans for a good match with the young Lord Stalwart."

"Even you must be somewhat relieved that a competent figher is defending her," I said. "If it is not meant to be, then it is not meant to be. The Fates have a way of dealing with such things."

He shook his head. "Southsward has much to gain from this union, Keetch."

"There must some other Trielian suitor out there," I implored. "Somebeast not as boorish and brutal as Egan."

"Tch! You'd say the same thing if a brilliant knight in shining armor came for Corinne."

"Yes," I admitted. "But be that as it may, even _you_ find serious fault in his character."

"Nothing specific I've picked out yet," he replied while he gauged our distance from the rest of the group. A serving maid bustled past us and we stepped aside so that we would be out of the way. "And I know that Corinne hates his guts. But she's a stubborn girl. Give her an idea, and she'll hate it with all her might." He gave a deep and weary sigh. "Daughters are hard, Keetch. Sweet when they're babies until they get t' this age. Treasure Arlie while she's still little."

"May we please stick to the original topic at paw?" I asked.

"Fire away," he chuckled, evasive as ever. "I do miss the little seaspray, though. Ayda was telling me that she taught you how to burp the babe."

"This is a serious matter," I said tersely. "Why did you not include me in your private holdings with the other lords? Of all things to exclude me from..." I stuttered a few syllables before I settled on "Why?"

He deflated a little and shook his head.

"Was it for my interference during that council meeting?" I wheedled. "The one with the ferret in the council?"

The greying otter scratched his cheek. "You're just too outspoken sometimes," he said gently. "I've always known that you were pooling for Corinne t'get off the hook on this whole Egan thing."

"And so you thought that I would speak against you," I finished for him.

"I'm sorry, son." He put a warm paw on my shoulder. "I should've included ya, but we needed to be as persuasive as we could be. Hard t'do with you nipping at our heels... especially when the king holds you with such high regard."

I felt my anger melt slightly. "I would not have gone against you," I told him, almost in an apologetic sort of fashion. "I could never betray you."

"And then you would've betrayed your sister," he said. In his own way, my father was being merciful all along, hurtful as his actions had been. "And the new law didn't seem to put a dent in it, anyways," he sighed. "Oriel slipped away, damn him."

His volume trailed away as his eyes fixated upon an object over my shoulder. I turned around to see Corinne; though her height barely reached the level of my chest, the look on her face was compensation enough.

"Why are you doing this?" she snapped.

"Corinne, Lord Stalwart is still somewhere on this level," my mother said as she rushed up beside her. "You _cannot_ speak like this anywhere near him. It's-"

"-unladylike. _Yes_," she flared. "Well I hope he likes hearing an honest piece of mind, because if he's to be my future husband, it's all he's going to get an earful."

"Corinne, not so loud," ordered my father. I looked behind me and, thankfully, Egan was nowhere to be found. Ayda was smart enough to give the family a wide berth.

My sister shook her head, looked down, and tapped her index and middle claw to the center of her forehead in mock contemplation. "You're right. I should be quiet about things- quiet like you were when you _stabbed me in the back_."

"It's for the good of the kingdom," my father defended. "You'll understand when you're older."

"It was bad enough you made a match of me like that." Tears swelled up in her eyes while her fists trembled. "Wanting to send me away from my home without giving me any choice."

"There was a choice," Gavin reminded gently. He laid a paw on her shoulder. "You have the tournament."

"It's not a choice anymore!" She shrugged his paw off of her. "He's taken that from me too!" The ottermaid shook her head and took another step forward, wiping away at the moisture spilling down her cheeks.

My father heaved a deep and regretful sigh. "Corinne." He reached a paw down to brush her tears when she slapped his wrist aside.

"No!" she barked. "No! After you nearly ruined Oriel, you had the_ brilliant_ idea of parading me around in front of the suitors? Think that I'd play nice after all you've done? Ha!" She took a step back and smiled at some cruel mental joke.

"You were quiet enough during the feast," I retorted. She shot a glare in my direction.

"And I wish I wasn't." She took a step back and smiled as though somebeast had whispered a secret joke in her ear.

"Look everyone!" The ottermaid raised her arms in the air and waved them at some invisible crowd while she mimicked my father's deep voice. "Look at my obedient little daughter! Well she's all yours if you want her because..." Her voice quivered and relapsed into a childish note. "Because I don't want her."

"You know that's not true," my mother cooed as she moved in for an embrace. It was a moment for mother and daughter, and we males were wise to stay out of it. After all, my mother was in a similar situation when she was Corinne's age. Only, she was fortunate in that she had a reputable champion and that a noble victor had beat the odds.

"But it is," Corinne sobbed, smothering her face with her sleeves and ruining her white dress. "I'm just a trade to him. The otter twenty-some seasons ago would've never agreed to this." She uncupped her face and looked at Father. "You were a champion too. You and General Dirk. Both of you loved Mother and wanted to protect her interests. Even when you won, you still gave Mother a choice of whether she'd marry you for love."

"Corinne." My father wanted to be stern, but he also ached to see her that way. "Stop this. Please stop. Just tell us where to find Oriel. I don't know why you're stubborn about it. It's for the best of the kingdom, so just _please_ cooperate."

"Kingdom, kingdom, kingdom," she mewled in mockery.

"Keetch wants what's best for the kingdom, but even _he _wants to protect me. Why can't you feel the same?" Her tone was strong at first, but it had slowly dwindled off into something hopeless and hollow. Some servants bumbled into the scene but had the sense to flee from the situation. A pity that option was closed to me.

My father stood there, tormented and torn between love and duty. "I do care, Corinne. I _do_ want to protect you. But my order to apprehend Oriel was from the king."

"Liar!" she countered. "Liar! King Darian wouldn't even blow his nose unless an adviser _advised_ him to. You were a part of those private meetings. I know you were. And it doesn't matter if Oriel's a lowborn or not - he's still doing his job just fine. Once he wins all five tourneys, he's gone, so why should it be any skin off your nose what his origins are? You just want him out of the way because you're a sore loser."

"That's _not_ true," he insisted. "Can't you see this is also for your own good? To become a Stalwart means a life of luxury. You can live your whole life on a mound o' silk pillows for all you want."

"But it's Egan."

"You don't have to see him every day," my father said gently. "Just give him a son and he can't ask for much more than your duty."

Corinne moved to the side, prying herself away from Mother's embrace. "Family and duty, family and duty. A fat load of good it does to anybeast. A real father wouldn't doom his daughter this way. A real father would support me. General Dirk has got stakes in this whole Southward-Triel alliance, and he's rooting for me."

"General Dirk?" my father asked incredulously.

"Yes." And then the thought dawned on her to give my father the worst wound she could possibly give. "I wish he wasn't so noble back then. He just stood back while you pressured Mother to marry you in front of the entire stadium. I wish _he_ was my father." My mother moved in to grab her about her shoulders, but she spun away and bolted up the stairs at a speed that rivaled Oriel's.

A thunderous silence followed, and my father shook his head in defeat and tucked his paws in his pockets. "Proper mess this is."

My mother sighed and cupped her chin with a paw. "You should just leave Oriel be." He didn't say anything. He just stayed fixed in his piteous position, waiting for a sign that he was not in the wrong. Soon enough, my mother drifted to his side, slipping one arm through the hollow between his elbow and rib.

"It's normal," she assured him as she pressed her ear against his upper arm. "Young bride-to-be's are always nervous and scared about leaving their families."

"She didn't mean it," Gavin agreed softly.

My father didn't look half convinced. I pursed my lips and looked aimlessly about. There was nothing more to be said or done. The damage had taken its toll and though I had a vermin refugee to bring to my father's attention, it simply was not the time. He had too many responsibilities to deal with and, to be quite frank, I dreaded his verdict on the situation. Some things, I supposed, should be done on my own. Corinne had complicated things by taking matters into her own paws, but I was sure to be careful.

* * *

**C/N: *sigh* Such is the state of my family. My sister is too stubborn to submit to my father's well-being, and my father obstructs her anger with smiles and soirees. Usually most of her anger has melted by the time she can confront him; this time, however, things took a turn for the worse.**

**For Miss TeaLeaf, this chapter was a rather difficult one. The argument between Corinne and my father would have been more believable if we were able to show a growing tension in previous chapters. In "The Chains That Bind Us," the problem lay in the fact that she had wallowed too much on character exposition. "The Blood Between Us," however, has improved on driving the story but has been lacking in secondary character development. Waycaster mostly communicates with his superior, Cousin Miria is too self-centered, and I am far too busy in matters both family and public duty. As you can see, while first-person narrative has its charms, it certainly has its limitations. As my father would say, "You choose some, you lose some."**

**To be fair, though there was less build-up to the confrontation, it did unravel a bit more to the backstory behind my father's ascension to nobility and his competition between General Dirk.**

**Now, if you would please send a review, Miss TeaLeaf would greatly appreciate it.**


	26. My Lady's Keeper

**A/N: Special thanks to those who reviewed since the last update - Free Though, Saraa Luna, Blackish, and Professor-Evans. To the Professor's question, it was subtle, but Asch/Oriel was described by Lord Keetch to be just average and a little on the lean side. Asch is actually quite muscular and broad for a ferret, but that only lands him on "average" in terms of otter standards.**

**This chapter is by far the longest- just over 7,000 words. I cringe, but I just felt that it had to be this long. I read it and read it and couldn't figure out what to omit. Gaaaaah. At least I've always known that this chapter was going to be pretty long. Good news is that for quite a while, none of the other chapters should be nearly this long.**

**Without further ado... the chapter a lot of you have been waiting for.**

* * *

**My Lady's Keeper  
**Asch Waycaster

_I beg tonight all my wits reveal more than meets your eye. -_ "The Glass of Fashion" sung by Galt Aureus

* * *

Bread and lentil soup. It's nobeasts' favorite, but it was a healthy-enough lunch. It's what you get when a hare is the cook. We figured he ate up all the tasty stuff and shoveled left-overs into the pot. For a creature notorious for clearing out pantries, he sure knew how to cram things down our throats. Literally.

My team was sittin' at our usual spot in the mess hall, once again listenin' to Red go off on another one of his stories. Even though I don't like to clump beasts into stereotypes, I couldn' help but think that the chatter-box squirrels idea came from my own teammate. Anyways, being a woodlander and all, he got the chance to visit any part of Floret without even a sideways glance. He was our eyes and ears on an open and unbitter Southsward, so at least most of his talk was alright.

And sometimes it was real interesting.

"So then Oriel whips the javelin around like a... well, a whip - and he _smashed_ it down on an otterguard's kneecaps. I never heard anything like it! The poor sap was rolling on the ground, and you could see the slick white bone poking over from his ruined legs." The squirrel was a pret-ty good storyteller, but he liked to stretch the truth. He flicked his spoon off of his tray and twirled it in the air.

"And then - bam!" He slammed the table with the butt of the utensil. "The Edgewise Knight brought his javelin down," he explained, curling two claws around the top of the fork in some weird mimic of Oriel's maneuver. "And he was on top like this, see? And then _fwoosh_!" One paw steadied the spoon while another sailed across his head.

"He bounced off the pole and into the stands! Never saw anything like it! Gah!" the squirrel slammed the table with the flat of his palm. Fidchell only paused to give him a flat glare a'fore gettin' back to his food. "I was waaaay on the other side of the stadium," Red complained with a twitch of his tail. "Just my luck!"

"I don't think he 'bounced' off the javelin," I said in mid-slurp. "Just doesn't sound right."

"Oh what do you know? You weren't there," he scoffed back.

I changed the subject. "So what do beasts think of him?"

"Who? Oriel?"

"Yeah."

Red didn't even have t' think before sayin', "They love him, of course."

This time, Barlow interrupted us. "Well I don't. What did he have to gain from hurting the Otterguard? Vain beast." Red gave the rat a disapproving eye-roll and waved a paw like he could physically bat away the complaint. Barlow really knew how to sap the fun outta things.

"Lord Swalestrom doesn't know how to lose," the squirrel replied. "Oriel wasn't hurting anybeast before, so why bother? Now the riverdog's more popular than ever."

"Why?" I goaded.

"Gates, I have to explain everything," Red scowled. "He took down twenty Otterguards single-pawed."

"You're joking," accused the rat. It's not everyday when a vermin calls a woodlander out on lies. Really, I took down only about seven or somethin' before I vaulted my escape.

"Well you weren't there," the squirrel snubbed back. "It was the greatest thing I'd ever seen. Asch, you should've been there! I would pay up a hundred Golds just to see you square off with him."

"I wouldn't fight him," I shrugged, bitin' back a laugh.

"Nobeast knows the first thing about him, but they're obsessed about him," Red gushed. "Everybeast is reading and performing his works." He took one look at our faces and shook his head at our confusion. "No, no! The dead Oriel. That beast kicked the bucket _ages_ ago. Some poet mouse or something, but now everybeast keeps reading his books like there's some secret clue about Oriel - the awesome Oriel, the not-dead Oriel."

Barlow clicked his teeth before grinning. "You want me to put a pillow on the ground in case ya swoon and faint like a maid?"

"Shaddup!" Red wrinkled his nose in a challenging way, but he just sat down and slouched over his cooling meal. I shook my head and turned to Fidchell.

"So," I began. "What do you think of Oriel?"

His amber pupils hovered around a corner of his vision while he swallowed down a mouthful of bread. "Nothing."

I snorted incredulously. "What? C'mon! You've gotta have an opinion of him."

"He _is_ a really good fighter," Red agreed.

"We're fighters, he's an entertainer," the fox replied casually. "Besides, what do I care what the woodlanders do with their time?" We stopped a while to think about that.

"The woodlanders are who we fight for," Barlow answered weakly.

"We make our living protecting them, not feeding their gossip. It's their world, not ours. Red can go do what he likes in his own free time - he's a woodlander - but we're vermin, and this Oriel stuff is none of our concern." He spoke with the tone of a frustrated parent. I turned back to my half-finished food; I can't explain it, but I kinda felt ashamed at myself for no real reason. Even Red was distanced, unsettled by the accusing way Fidchell flung the word 'woodlander' at him.

Still, Oriel wasn't some scum out for attention or to hurt creatures. I had to at least tell 'em that much. "He's not a bad beast," I said lamely, tilting my head while stirring the bowl of cloudy, lumpy broth. Nobeast challenged me, so I didn't get a chance to explain m'self. Even if they did, I had no idea what I could tell 'em without spilling the general's secret about some war dangling over our heads.

At the very least, I thought to myself, Lady Corinne would get t' understand Oriel.

* * *

Balanced on the barrel, I waited patiently for Lady Corinne to appear. I didn't know what to expect really... Gates, I didn't even expect her t'show up. I'd waited for about an hour, which was usually a bad sign as far as meeting went. Still, my mind made up reasons for her lateness. Maybe she didn't see the message on the flower petals? Perhaps that day just wasn't a good day? What if somebeast saw the message before she even realized it? She could've gotten lost. Too many things could've gotten wrong.

But anyways, I stayed on the edge of Southsward Square, watchin' crowds shrink and swell like the tides, keepin' my eye out for a lonely and lost-lookin' ottermaid. I thought to myself that I should've picked a less crowded spot, but what's done was done. Besides, Lady Corinne was likely t'find Southsward Square if all she had to do was follow a crowd.

And boy, what a crowd it was.

Every full moon, all manner of businesses opened up stands and carts in Southsward Square. Sure, there were markets in Floret every day, but the Night Market was pretty backwards; it ran from sundown to sunup. Well, most beasts got tired a few hours a'fore the sun peeked over the horizon, so pretty much dead right before dawn. For a long time, I'd have early leave from training and tutoring so that I could help Ma with her cart. It was just a little hunk of wood that didn't carry much- stack of quilts, some pawcloths, aprons, tablecloths... Sometimes, we would be at the Night Market the entire time and not even get a single Copper.

It didn't matter much, though. Ma did it for fun and Birger got paid enough for being part of Sword and got extra for bein' my handler. For me, it was the only time when I could be a ferret and blend in a bit. I would sit on my paws and drink in the sights and smells- oh, the smells especially! The air was thick with the scent of charcoal and firewood, greasy roast pigeon cookin' on a spit, fresh bread, soups of all sorts... It was exciting and every which way I looked, there was color and light and smiling faces and all kinds o' things to distract 'em from me.

When I was particularly confident of a friendly crowd, I'd go out to get a bit o' my own attention (under Ma's watchful eyes, of course). Ma made me promise not t' throw daggers or show off fightin' skills, so I did a bit o' juggling and pawstands and little stuff like that. The smallest kids were my favorite. They had no idea that I was a ferret or even knew what vermin did, so they clapped the loudest. They even called me "Mister Red Otter" and the compliment made me glow. Sometimes if I put a bucket on the ground, beasts would put coins inside so that I could buy some of the market's food.

But General Dirk put an end to that nonsense when I grew older. I was a soldier, not some artistic panhandler. But I was still allowed t'help Ma with her quiltin' business- sellin' the quilts, not stitchin' 'em. Every time I tried, Ma would snap me upside the head for doing a hatch job of it. But anyways, I always hauled the cart to the square and back home for her, and talked t'beasts if they fancied a conversation with a strange creature. A lot of times, it was a youngster that was dared by his friends and there were times where things were... difficult.

"Excuse me?"

I whirled around and saw an ottermaid with an ash-smudged face. A very _familiar_ ash-smudged face.

"My lady!" I nearly toppled off the barrel just t'do a bow, but I managed to steady myself in time.

"Oh please, please!" she said. "Don't bow! It'll draw attention!" I stopped in mid-gesture and straightened my back, coughin' into my fist in a painful act of casualness.

"By your sudden reaction, you must be Oriel," she stated so softly I could barely hear.

"Yes," I said stiffly, like I was reporting to a superior. She looked far from anybeast of power, though. I was so used to seein' her on the balcony and in flowin' gowns - all serene and queen-like. But standing right in front of me, she was actually real small - like a kid's body that'd given up growin'. I mean, her curvy body told me she wasn't a child, but the top of her head barely reached the bottom o' my chest.

And in a plain tan dress, white apron, ash-marked head scarf, she was dressed like a common serving maid, and the smudges on her cheeks made her look a little like a pitiful beggar.

"You look different," I told her, trying my best to hide my accent. Sure, I was disguised as an otter, but she and the other nobles spoke so proper. That, and I wanted Oriel and Asch to be as different as night and day. Who knows what would happen if she added things up?

Lady Corinne just shook her head and giggled, smoothin' the servant's gown with her paws. "You like it? It's the newest fashion of Floret!"

I cocked my head. "My lady?"

"I had Bree swap places with me in my chambers," she beamed. "Oh - Bree is my serving maid. She told everybeast she was going to clean my fireplace but we just switched clothes." She twirled and I thought to m'self that she could make any dress look flattering. "She's spending the night in my bed while I just snuck off. The ashes on my face were my idea- just to be convincing. I look like a real working girl, don't you think?"

"I... suppose, my lady."

"Oh, just call me Corinne," she ordered lightly. "Out here, I'm just an ottermaid. And you are just Oriel." She tilted her chin a little. "Is that your real name? Oriel?"

My mind raced as I scrabbled for something clever t' say. Somethin' a real hero would utter. I latched on to something and held fast. "Call me what you will. Be it hero, fiend, companion, stranger, it makes no matter. I am what I am. Your confidante, your protector."

"_By Day, By Knight_," she nodded. "One of Rensa's works."

"I-"

"I read, you know." By the way she carried herself, I didn't doubt it. Her tone softened a tad and then she smiled warmly. "It's a romantic piece. Come, let's walk. You know a lot about me, but I want to know about you."

Side by side, we waded through the crowds. Beasts gave us enough room to meander through the stands. I guess it was the pawful of knives at my side, or maybe it was because we carried ourselves with a bit of a noble air. Either way, nobeast harassed us, which was good.

I kept an even pace, paws clasped behind m'back while she bounced questions off of me only to come back empty-pawed.

"So is your name Oriel? Your real name? And I want a straight answer. No more riddles or reciting from plays."

"No."

"Would you mind telling me your real name?"

"I'm afraid I can't," I replied.

"Why not?"

"I made a promise not to give my true name."

"Who did you make that promise to?"

I smiled a little. "Do we have to talk about my identity? I would tell you if I could, but I am bound by my word." She seemed perplexed by me, a polite yet defiant servant. I was about to apologize, but my lady shrugged it off and walked on with her nose tipped a little higher in th' air.

"You writing a message in a flower petal was clever," she said, back to the tone of a lofty lady. She had the poise of one too - a wrist tucked under a paw and held just below her chest. "You read that from Argyle's works, yes?"

"Yes, my la- Corinne. But please lower your paws. It looks suspicious, I think." She dropped her arms and held them at her side, suddenly with a smile lighted with mischief.

"You know, I was always taught to clasp my paws," she told me as she stopped to breathe from a stand full o' scented candles. The dirty-faced otterlady turned and continued with my stride, nodding to the merchant as he waved. "Mother always said that holding my paws together kept them from fidgeting."

"You don't say." A long, awkward sorta silence followed, and she stopped to do some investigatin' at a stand full o' sparkly baubles and knick-knacks.

A merchant squirrelmaid looped a shell pendant around some twine and strung it about Corinne's neck, talking as quickly as her claws fiddled with knots. "It's quite beautiful," the lady marveled.

"It's a lucky charm for otters," agreed the squirrelmaid. The pendant was a bony-white coiled shell sliced in half t' show the curvin' chambers that ran along the inside. The outer layers had a tinge of pink on 'em, like the shell'd washed up on a sunrise shore and soaked the colors.

"Do you fancy it?" I asked as I reached for the pouch at my belt.

"No, no." Lady Corinne shook her head, and the merchant's face soured before the ottermaid plucked two Silvers from her pockets. The rejection was not for her wares, but for me payin'. The squirrel's ear-tufts sprang upward at the coins. I winced at the expression.

"It's actually three Silvers, miss," the peddler piped.

"Ah, quite right." The lady plunged her paws back into her pocket before I stepped forward.

"Two coins," I demanded. Lady Corinne gazed up at me with wide eyes.

The merchant was adamant. "I'm sorry, but it's-"

"Two."

She wrinkled her snout and made a noise that sounded like a polite snort. "Two Silvers and five Coppers."

"Two Silvers."

"Two Silvers and two Coppers."

"Done." Lady Corinne had only watched while the heated exchange sailed back'n forth over her head. She hardly did anythin' to object when I laid the four coins onto the cart and led her away from the somewhat-richer peddler.

"I was going to pay for myself," she said sullenly. "Two coins. That's a drop in a pail."

"For you, perhaps," I said, my anger gone. "But for the rest of us, that's nothing to sneeze at. Besides, a noble should never allow herself to be swindled... even if it's for just a little coin."

She frowned a little as she toggled with her new necklace. "Are two Silvers a lot for you?" The look in her eyes were a mix of guilt and pity. "Is that why you were so upset?"

My pace fumbled a bit. "No, my lady. Two Silvers isn't much to me. I'm not poor by any means, so please don't think too much on that haggling scene."

"Then you won't mind if I pay you back," she said in a half-order-half-question kinda tone.

"Consider it a gift," I replied.

She pursed her lips and avoided the next couple of carts no matter how much the peddlers invited her. I bit the inside of my cheek, nervous as she steered us into the main stream of shoppers. I had worn long sleeves, but every time a beast bumped shoulders into me I felt the paint brush off to reveal a patch o' red fur. It was awful, weaving through the beasts and prayin' that Corinne wouldn't get a glimpse of anything odd.

"Did you grow up poor?" she asked suddenly.

"Not particularly."

"What did your parents do?"

I scanned the rows of carts and spotted Ma. She was hunkered down on a chair, knitting a scarf while beasts passed her by in droves. I thought t' make Oriel drop by and pay a visit, but it was risky. Besides, the otterwife seemed content and her cart was missing a few quilts, so she must've had some business.

"Oriel?"

"Hm?" I turned sharply to her. "I'm sorry, m- Corinne. What was that?"

"I asked you what your parents do. Or... Do you have parents anymore?"

"They're around... But for what they do, I can't say."

"Oh..." She looked down and frowned before glancing back up at me. "Did you grow up around this area here?"

"Yes."

"Then can you please point me in the way of your favorite restaurant?" she asked. "I'm famished!" I doubted that a highborn like her ever had the chance to feel anything more'n a craving, but I wasn't about t' say that to her.

"Do you like wood pigeon?"

She shook her head. "Anything but that, please."

"Smoked fish?" I dodged a tyke as he raced past us, carefully watchin' him to make sure he didn't pick our pockets.

"That will do."

I led her to the edge of the mass and doubled back the way we came. Along the way, she asked me a few more questions- that time about my childhood. I couldn't offer her much information 'cept that I didn't go out much. It didn't help her with her guesswork, but it kept her busy. We wound up at a little corner with some logs piled around it for benches. Woodlanders lounged about, barking laughter as they slurped at soup bowls or ripped meat straight off a stick. Lady Corinne kept a straight face, but I knew she didn't approve. Anybeast with a drop of highborn blood would turn their nose at the behavior of commoners' pastimes.

"What would you like?" I asked her.

"I'm not so hungry," she said, fixating on a cluster of beasts as they competed belches and roared with triumph.

"I can't say much about them," I said, "but I can vouch for the food... at least, it's good for working-class beasts."

The lady switched her gaze to the fire in the middle. A giant cooking pot hung above it, frothing and dribbling water that made the fire hiss in outrage. Around the blaze were sticks. Some had skewered mushrooms, there were some roasting apples, some sticks had skewered shrimp, some rich bastard afforded a pigeon leg, and a pawful of sticks had some nice crisping fish.

A little ways from the fire was a picnic table that held bowls and buckets of raw food. Sliced fruits, bulge-eyed fish, slabs of raw pigeon parts, curled shrimp, carrots, potatoes, you name it.

My lady craned her neck. "What's in the pot?"

"Hard to tell," I admitted. "It can be anything, really." She didn't say a word, so I nodded to the picnic table and said, "The stew has whatever the customers want. Anybeast who wants a bowl has t'pay a Copper. If he wants to add something extra to the pot, he pays an two Coppers - one to add extra ingredients and the other to ladle it into his soup bowl. They give us what we need t'make our food and we cook it. It's called an open kitchen."

"But what if you don't want to eat what's already in the pot?"

"Not a lot of commoners are real picky eaters."

A fat vole approached us, waving a ladle about while he rubbed a greasy paw on a filthy smock. "Hey you two! You gonna buy something? Smells ain't free!"

"Just give us a second," I called back to him. I turned back to my lady and whispered, "Do you want to eat here? We can go someplace else." Really, she looked a little frightened, but her pride battled her heritage. In the end, she swallowed and told me in a wavering voice, "I want the roasted apple." Pride won the battle over her upbringing. I felt strangely in awe of her and yet worried.

"Right," I said tightly, leading her away from the bawdy group and to the picnic table. There, I paid my dues, found two clean sticks, and speared one with an apple and the other with a vandace. She sat down on an isolated log while I stabbed the sticks into the dirt, anglin' them perfectly against the fire before I joined back with her.

Her legs were parallel and slanted off to the side while her paws locked around her knees. If she was sittin' on a proper chair, she'd look all regal and stately. On a low-set bench, though, she looked real awkward.

"Do you eat like this all the time?" she asked in a hushed voice.

I thought about it a bit. "No. But I don't mind it. I kind of like it, actually."

She breathed in a great big sigh. It was the kind of noise Ma made whenever I'd run headlong into the thick of her patience. The sound that told me that somebeast was disappointed.

"Is something on your mind?" I asked. She didn't answer immediately. "I'm sorry," I said. "Did I do something wrong, my lady?"

She evaded the question with another question. "How long have you trained for fighting?"

I let my shoulders relax a bit. "All my life."

"So you were inducted into Sword from an early age?"

I blinked. She could've easily figured that out from what Asch told her. "Yes."

"What's it like in Sword? Being raised with a blade in paw and side by side with vermin?"

"It isn't bad," I shrugged. "Even the parts with vermin are alright."

"Do you like being in Sword?"

My brows shot up. "My lady... Of course!"

"Why?"

I thought a minute. I couldn't mention Birger, a lifelong debt to General Dirk would bring up some questions, and working with vermin wasn't supposed t'be fun and dandy.

"I like fightin'," I said simply.

She tilted her head and leaned a little closer to me. "You could fight in the Otterguard."

I paused mid-bite. "I could."

"Father says that he'd like you to join the Otterguard," the ottermaid said. "If you joined, maybe he can allow you to stay as my champion. In the Otterguard, you would get better payment, better promotions, and you wouldn't have to work with vermin - I mean - I apologize," she said, looking down at her paws. "They're your friends, aren't they? I shouldn't judge."

"They're good beasts," I agreed. "Most of them."

"My maid Bree told me you were particularly close to your messenger," she dug. "The red ferret, was it? He told her that you two were like brothers."

"Brothers in arms."

"Brothers in arms," she repeated softly. "So you were close? How did you come to know him? And how did you come to Sword in the first place?"

"I really shouldn't say more." I wanted to punch myself. I didn't mean to be so boring. I didn't want _Oriel_ to be so bland. My mind screamed at me, yelling at me and demandin' why I didn't bother to make up some wild tale. It would be a lie, but at least Lady Corinne wouldn't be bored to death. I seethed on the inside as I got up and pulled our sticks out of the ground and offered her the roasted apple.

She bit into it gingerly, blowing at it every now and then. "It's not bad," she admitted. "A little sour, but not bad."

"The fish is good," I reported. Another long silence as we minced on our food and watched the commoners with disinterest.

"The offer still stands with you joining the Otterguard," she piped.

"Even if I joined, I doubt Lord Galen would like me as your champion," I told her gently. Lady Corinne stopped and contemplated that bit of information, her sharp grey eyes focused on the fire. She didn't stay quiet for long, though - not that I minded her talk.

"But is the general paying you?" she persisted. I didn't answer right away. "After the first tournament, I secretly gave him some of my jewels as payment for you," she said. When she saw my expression, she assured me. "Don't worry. They were old and nobeast would start looking for them. Besides, they were a bit gaudy for my tastes. But..." Then Lady Corinne's forehead crinkled in a frown. "But they were meant for you. They were easily worth ten Golds."

Ten golds was enough to buy a small cottage! To think that she could just give away a cottage all willy-nilly like that. But I guess it wasn't just 'giving away.' It was a gift to a loyal servant that would never betray her. But even though those jewels, those ten Golds, were meant for me, I was a loyal servant to another too.

"The general doesn't lie or cheat," I told her when I swallowed some of the fish.

"I'm not saying he does, but... I just wanted to make sure you knew that I appreciated your help... that you wouldn't starve or anything."

"A starving beast wouldn't fight so well as me, my lady. Besides, I owe General Dirk my life. If he wants to keep the jewels, they're his."

"Oh..." She looked down like she was ashamed, and I saw her twiddling with her stick. The half-eaten apple was stuck on one end, making it look more like a wand than a shameful waste of food.

"I'm not saying he's a bad beast," she defended. "Whatever it is, I'm sure he has his reasons. He was a great friend to my parents, you know."

"I've heard." I had just taken a finishing chunk out of my dinner.

"When I found out I was being matched with Egan, I was upset. Only the general would help me." She smiled at that and looked up to the distant rooftops as she twirled the apple-wand in her paw. "He helped Mother back when she was my age, so I was hoping he'd help me. I didn't expect much, but ah... he brought me you. For a while, he felt like my only friend." I stayed quiet, but she continued anyways. "I don't know if he told you this, but I even told him my plans for after you win the last tournament."

My ears perked (my folded, otter-disguised, aching ears). "And what's that?"

"To travel." Her ladyship said it so simply, like it was a well-known thing.

"Travel?" I echoed stupidly.

She laughed airily. "The general was surprised, too... except that he took to the idea pretty quickly. Everybeast thinks I want to get married, but I want to see things before I settle down and fatten up with cubs."

"But... But it's your duty," I pointed out. Her smile died a little. "You're supposed to get married, aren't you, my lady? If you wait too long, maybe nobeast would want to marry you."

"Maybe... Maybe not." Her voice was frosty and guarded. "The Swalestrom name is a powerful one, though. And if you win the competitions for me, a noble husband wouldn't matter anymore. I can marry out of love and I can _still _further my family line through him. After all, a female can still bear pups until her fortieth season - maybe more."

"It isn't always easy bearing pups," I reminded her. "It gets harder as you grow older." Not many males thought about birthing that much, but not many males've seen a cub die just hours after its first breath.

"I won't be _that_ old," she retorted. Then Lady Corinne breathed in a lungful of air- a gesture that said, 'I'm trying to be nice here'. I listened. "Anyways," she said, her voice back with her wonderful, inquisitive self. "I was going to ask the general later if I could borrow you for something... If you don't mind."

I blinked owlishly. "Borrow me?"

"Would you like to be my bodyguard?" she asked brightly. "I will need a bodyguard if I'm to travel. My father wouldn't allow it, but the general can spirit me away if I asked nicely enough. Only, I want to be safe from vermin and robbers if I go. Would you come with me? Would you like to, Oriel?"

I gulped. "I don't think he'll let me."

"I can always ask," she insisted. "You will come if he agrees, would you?"

"But where would we go?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's all so exciting!" The ottermaid was practically bubbling with joy as her arms moved to form shapes to her descriptions. And then it occurred to me that she wasn't just pretty, she seemed to _shine_.

"Ayda always tells me about Parma," she gushed. "I have to see the capital of Vargo! The towers glimmering in the sunrise, the moon hanging over the lagoons! And mountains! _Mountains_, Oriel. Have you ever seen the mountains reaching up to pierce the sky? To stand on one would be like standing on top of the word. The Jayso Isles are lovely, I hear. They're so hot, but they have the most beautiful lush forests. And up North past the deserts are the wild roads."

"Wild roads?"

"Nobeast goes up there - not without a boat to bypass the desert. After the desert is forests, I hear. Beautiful, green, cooling forests full of wildflowers and vales and teeny villages that don't understand the idea of coins... Silly beasts trapped in a simpler time. There isn't much trade up there, but they say it's where Joseph the Bellmaker is from. A magic place called Redwall Abbey. I'd like to see it," she said dreamily, letting the apple-wand droop until its point brushed the dirt.

"It sounds dangerous," I said.

"That's why I want to bring you."

"It sounds time-consuming."

"Better start soon, then."

"What if I don't want to go?"

She huffed. "Then I can ask the general for one of his Swordbeasts. The ferret, maybe." If she was tryin' to make me jealous, she wasn't doin' a great job of it.

"But why me?"

"I've seen what you do," she stressed. "You beat Egan _and_ Father's Otterguard. It takes real skill to pull that off."

"But I'm just a commoner."

Lady Corinne smiled in an almost-shy way and shook her head once. Twice. "Oriel, if even one of your many qualities is _common_, I'm sure a lot of wives would have a lot less to complain about." She scooted closer and I scooted away, blushing like mad all the while. I felt like I was burning up, like I was gonna melt if I stayed any longer. _Melt..._

I bolted upright, suddenly aware of the bonfire's heat and the sweat that endangered my disguise. "We should probably go now," I hurried.

"A-alright," she stammered. I didn't even do the polite thing and offer to pull her up. I didn't want to risk wet paint on her paws... Not with the heat blazing so close by. "What do I do with the apple?" she asked.

"Just stick it in the ground," I said, plucking it from her paws and stabbing it into the earth. "A beggar is sure to pick it up." With that, I led her out of the haphazard, open kitchen and back out into the crowd. Lady Corinne was confused by the suddenness of it all, and she kept on trying to latch onto my paw. I didn't let her, though I let her hook an arm around my elbow (it had long sleeves anyways).

But for all she knew, she'd said something that had unnerved me. It was a troubling sign to her, that her champion would be so edgy about a request.

"It wasn't you," I assured her. _I just didn't want ya t' know the vermin in me. _"Some of the males around that bonfire were looking at us strangely."

"Oh." She sounded relieved.

We walked around a bit more, getting back to the hang of things as I felt the paint begin to dry all over again. I relaxed a bit and I let her drink in the sights and smells of the rest of the market. It was her first time doin' anything with commoners. I could tell. In fact, I was pretty sure that the merchants could tell that there was somethin' so naive about her. For one thing, that scuffle with the shell-necklace taught me that she didn't know how to haggle. And why would she when she could easily afford any price? I felt a little bit of pity for her but dashed it away in a heartbeat.

After all, what was a Night Market compared t' a decorated ballroom? Ha. A banquet trumped a monthly market - no contest!

"So what's a banquet like?" I asked her suddenly.

"Oh, it's wonderful," she chirped. "Gowns and chandeliers and jewelry and food and music and fancy gowns and... Oh, the dancing is the best part. Oriel, is there a place we can dance here?" The ottermaid twisted to look around, loosing her arm from my elbow while she searched.

"Er... dancing?" I steadied myself and pulled us towards the opposite direction. "That would be over - "

She followed my gesture and yanked me in that direction, urging me along. The curtain of beasts gave way to an open corner of the Night Market reserved only for musicians and dancers alike. The journey from marketplace to dance area didn't take more than a minute, but I was a little put off by her sudden burst of enthusiasm.

"Come and dance with me," she said gleefully, paws wrapped tight around my long sleeves while she guided me towards the squirming mass of dancers. The jaunty music wafted in the air, fillin' my ears and minglin' with the dancers' laughter. The beasts were practically flyin' on the floor, waving their arms and stomping every now'n then. One mouse practically crashed into three other couples before he ended up on the ground, giggling into fits. Ballrooms were always so quaint and fine; why couldn't commoners just _try_ to act better'n their station?

"I dunno," I squirmed, slipping into a more ottery sort of tone. I caught the mistake and corrected m'self. "I don't dance much, my lady. I've never danced ever, actually."

"Please?" she implored, separatin' from me and twirling in mid-step so that she could perform a mocking bow. "Will you please do me the honor, good sir?"

A thousand thoughts whirled in my head. A thousand possibilities, a thousand things that could go wrong... But a realization struck me with clarity: there was a beautiful maid that would be alone on the dance floor and the idea seemed wrong. I didn't realize that I had stepped forward until she took my paw in hers and pulled me into an empty space.

"You take your paw and put it on my waist," she instructed. I just shuffled my footpaws and looked around like a lost and pathetic kid. She touched the back of my paw and I flinched away from her touch. The otterlady looked at a loss.

"I'm trying to teach you the proper method..." Her voice was soft, confused. But as bad as she felt, it was nothing compared to me. My insides turned all to liquid and my limbs turned to jelly. I'd seen plenty of beasts dance all romantic before. Eyes to eyes, chest to chest, one set of paws held together while one paw strayed down t' the female's waist... intimately, languidly, seductively.

My heartbeat thrummed and I held my breath as she folded her paws over my wrists and held them up. Like a stupid puppet, I kept them suspended in the air while she placed her palms against mine, standin' a pace away from the rest o' me.

"I get it. You're shy." Her smile was reassuring and I felt a little better. Slowly, we began to rotate in a circle. Nothing exciting or spontaneous like the other dancers... Just a slow and easy motion that I could follow. "A dance would be too personal, so I understand. But here..." Corinne drew our paws together in a way that blocked our faces from each other.

"Here is the Underhill Waltz," she explained, like she was talkin' to a toddler. "It's a simple mole dance with the easiest steps." She pushed our arms back apart and at a more comfortable length. "Now just mirror my steps," she instructed gently.

I did just that, though she chided me every time I stared too long at our footpaws. A second later, I was guiding our direction as we dodged through wild couples and squeezed between the moving walls of beasts. Every step was a span of movement, every breath a heartbeat's mark of time. The music floated in the air and hummed in our ears, the lilting combination of fiddles and flutes and drums willing us to go on. The torchlights seemed to swell and merge, brightening the colorful dresses and flowers, and whitening the smiles all around us. We made several rounds and I found it hard to take my eyes off her.

"You're getting good at this," she said suddenly. I blinked and stuttered a quick "thank you." She giggled and, despite the fact that I'd been pouring all my concentration on rhythmic moving, I felt the need to explain myself.

"It must be my training. Swordplay is about footwork and attention to surroundings, so... I guess I subconsciously..." A quick inspection of my steps told me that I had successfully multi-tasked. "...I guess I'm just good at it."

The ottermaid dropped her left paw and spun like a top, recovering herself and replacing her paw back against mine in less than a second. She changed our routine, letting go of her left paw before steerin' me in a circle with her right. I followed the ebb of her movements and mimicked her straight posture with my left paw tucked behind my back. We earned a few skeptical looks from the other dancers and I gulped for the hundredth time that night.

"I'm doing the gentlebeast's steps," she smirked. "You, the lady's. Let's see if you can take the lead." She let her arms fall at her side and I slowed down. Nothin' was left to propel me and I stood frozen in place. A dormouse couple bumped into me and I uttered a quick apology as they scoffed at my clumsiness.

"Alright, this is getting nowhere," Corinne sighed with an amused smile. She lifted my palms with her own and curled her claws into the grooves of my paws, locking us in place. "We'll start from the beginning again until you're comfortable with all this. S'alright."

We did the routine again, turnin' round and round in circles; she guided my steps while I navigated us safely. The lady did a brave twirl every now and then while I sometimes circled her, one paw against hers, while she rotated in place, propelled by my movements. I thought we'd go at it the same way for the rest of the night but she was full of surprises.

She grabbed both my paws without warning and whisked us down an empty aisle of space. My heart was poundin' at the break in routine but I fell in step with her. With a push of her body, she was spinning freely before latching back to my paws with perfect precision. In a weird act of impulse, I took her paw and wheeled her in a circle while she spun, the skirts of her dress swelling and swirling at the rush. Our arms formed a perfect arc and when she ran out of momentum, she collided against me. I steadied her in time, but found my paw cupped against her waist and her chest brushing against mine.

I didn't stammer. I didn't offer any apology. I didn't even think.

I just bent my head down and found her lips against mine.

* * *

**C/N: So... Jade's travelin' a little bit so she might be kinda slow at gettin' back to you. Also, it's the same reason why she's updatin' now instead of tomorrow. She's at conferences, so free time comes at random. **

**Anyways, Jade is a little new to the whole romantic writing. I tried t'help her out, but I don't think she really knows how to get beasts to feel what I felt for Corinne. I'm not even sure she knows how to write her so that readers actually like her. Anyways, if you could just report what you felt about this chapter and romance-theme, that would be great. **

**And for those of you who would care, the theme of Oriel's feelings for Lady Corinne is "The Glass of Fashion" by Galt Aureus. It fits almost perfectly.**

**As for the dancin', Jade's actually taken a dance class for a semester and actually used some dance moves in the last scene. Not exactly sure what they're called, though. Huh...**

**And as for the beginning, well, we really wanted to bring you lot back to my unit and what they thought. They're really important to the story, but they don't do much in the beginning. We considered takin' out the beginning section just to make the chapter shorter, but then when the real action starts, it would seem like they just showed up outta nowhere. *shrugs***

**So again, please send a bit of a review on what you thought - especially if you hated the way she did the romance. My writer's only really good at showin' the angry emotions.**


	27. Something There

**A/N: So... I kinda dropped the ball last week and I'm sorry about that. I was busy and had writer's block. Miria is usually not too hard to write but she has been difficult to me lately. :( So, to make up for last week and to keep myself on schedule, I'll have two updates by next Thursday instead of one. Isn't it strange to think that I've been writing this story for over six months now?** **Where does the time go?**

**Special thanks to those who reviewed since the last update: Professor-Evans** (who will be disappointed at the lack of Asch-Corinne stuff in this chapter)**, Saraa Luna** (who continues to be a great sport about reviewing my stories when I neglect hers... sorry :( )**, Bladesniper13** (for the pleasant surprise of a boat-load of reviews)**, SgtHolton **(who should allow PMs so I can thank him personally)**, Free Thought** (the one who might just drive herself insane with all her theorizing for this story)**, Quaver Ava** (which Miria has so lovingly nicknamed Q-tip)**, Blackish **(a new and very insightful reviewer to the story)**, Red Squirrel Writer** (I'm still eagerly waiting on that update, by the way!)**, and Guest **(who doesn't mind my long-windedness)**.**

**Whew! Lots of reviewers this time around. And by the way, we have reached a Review/Chapter ratio of 7.1. :) I'm so happy right now, so I've been working a little extra on the drabble stories (found in The Memories That Make Us). No, I haven't quite posted anything on that yet (as I've been behind on this story already). But anyways, I want to thank all you phenomenal readers and reviewers out there. Without further ado...**

* * *

**Something There**  
Miria Wildshore

_"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." - Edgar Allan Poe_

* * *

The ship plowed the waves, shearin' the water while dark clouds churned overhead.

A wooden figurehead was set on its prow, sea spray dribbling down its eroded, featureless face. Whatever manner of beast it had originally been, I imagined that its mouth had been stretched into an angry scream. Clusters of barnacles scabbed the hull, decoratin' it with the bleach white appearance of bones stretching along its berth. Then there were its raggedy sails. By all logic it shouldn't have held wind and yet a ghost of a breeze still billowed into the fabric, making it puff and flutter like a failing heart. But most of all, I noticed the rows and rows of oars scooping into the blue waters and swirlin' it into a foamed frenzy. There seemed to be a countless number of oars from where I stood and I could not shake free from the dread falling in my gut.

_Snap! _

I woke up t'see my new companions loafing around the campfire as usual. The dawn light nearly blinded me and the tweeting birds needed to be shot full o' arrows. The stormy coast and ship, suddenly realized as some dizzy dream, faded from memory as my brain focused on reality. I scowled and tried t'shift myself back to form, but my muscles ached and I'm pretty sure I'd fallen asleep with a branch wedged in my ribs. Cripes, I'm pretty sure it's still lodged there.

"What's the story, morning glory?" asked Rall. The otter flexed a bundle o' twigs in both paws and wrenched 'em down.

_Snap!_

Then he tossed them into the campfire, stirring up the embers as he picked up more sticks. The wolf was as useful as a wet blanket, clanking pots and pans together to let the whole world know where we were bumming around.

"Will you keep it down?" I snarled. "Bad enough you two keep trailin' me, now you've gotta spread all your Stupid around?"

Inlo dipped his snout. "Apologies, Miss Miria."

"Yeah! So hush it up, will ya? Last thing we need are bandits." Two weeks. An entire flipping fortnight and they still didn't understand the danger. The runt probably never had to worry, what with him growin' fat in a nice village and bein' freakishly huge and all. But the guppy kept making everything off as a small deal.

"No worries," he beamed. "If anybeast came over t'steal our vittles, all they'd have to do is take a look at your sweet face before they start running for the hills."

"If you were born in any other country, you would've been busted up, violated, stabbed, killed, skinned and killed again ages ago."

He flashed his pearly-whites and said, "May be, but we can't keep talking about what-if's." That's the thing I hated 'bout him. Always with a smile or a smirk instead of a classic scowl.

"We're not in Mossflower anymore," I reminded.

"Yeah we are."

"We passed that village nearly a week ago. That village of water-logged midget-mice marked the furthest South you'd ever been. For a while now, this has been unknown territory and we'll treat it that way." I grabbed my rucksack and felt the weight of it, makin' sure nothing was filched while I was asleep. It was my pillow for the night, but there were times when that didn't stop anybeast from thievin'.

"We have my nose to sense the dangers," the wolf volunteered. "No scent of vermin anyplace."

"Yup!" Rall brought his wrath down on another flimsy bundle of sticks. "The Guosim made sure o' that. Good ol' Log-a-log keepin' us all safe." Guosim, Log-a-log. And they say that vermin crack up some real schiff for names.

"It's not just the vermin I worry about," I growled. At that, like on some freakish cue, Inlo's nose tipped into the air and he breathed deep.

"What?" asked Rall. Stupid, stupid Rall.

"Something approaches."

I clenched my spear and hefted my things over my back. "Forget breakfast. It doesn't matter if we can scent 'em if we can't outrun 'em." Rall's fishy eyes bulged and he reached for his special sword, unsheathing it by an inch while Inlo floundered around with the pots and pans as quietly as possible. Quiet as thunder, really.

"Just leave it!" I said in a bark of a whisper. "We run. Now!"

The guppy opened his giant mouth. "What do they smell like, Inlo?"

He raised his nose again and I shrank against one of the bushes. If they wanted to stand around for some lousy mush-of-a-breakfast, then that was all fine and dandy. I'd lose my two shadows and escape with my life.

"The scent's faint." Sniff sniff. "One. It grows stronger."

I would just have to run downwind of Inlo before the whats-it got too close. I pushed m'self further into the branches and made a decision to bolt South.

The anxiety clung onto Rall like a horde o' fleas. He kicked dirt over the fire and grabbed what he could, yanking at the runt's fur as he steered towards me. I wondered how the Redwallers even survived before the abbey was built. I watched as the otter scuffed some loose dirt around, padding it down with his heels and rudder to cover our trails.

He gave Inlo a sharp shove that told him to hide quickly. The dumb savage nearly squashed me, but I dodged just in time. I tried to make a break for it, but Rall held me by th' shoulder.

"We wait," he ordered.

"Stop bein' crazy," I whispered. "We run now or we get skewered with arrows or somethin'."

"No." He pulled me closer and I cringed as some twigs snapped under my paws. "Shshshshsh." He held a claw against his lips. "We have to know what we're so afraid of. If it's one creature, it's worth the risk." I tried to shove him back, but a far-off rustling sound made me go still.

We were about ten paces away from the clearing and the campfire was still smoldering. Most beasts would assume we'd turned tail instead of waited around for an ambush. Even if they were wise enough to guess our hiding spot, I didn't think they were wise enough t' expect a wolf. I nodded and pushed his paw off my shoulder.

Some unseen thing moved across from us and we held our breath, crouching with weapons at the ready. I only hoped that Inlo wouldn't faint and crush us under his fat.

"What does it smell like?" he whispered into the wolf's ear. "Friend or foe?"

_Oh sure. Because friends smell like soap and foes smell like... What the hell is that kinda question, anyways?!_

A mouse stumbled out into the clearing and the two idiots relaxed immediately. The creature looked about, squinting his eyes as he surveyed the scene. He carried a simple satchel which told me he lived 'round there. Even more important was that he didn't seem t'carry any weapons besides a staff - meanin' two things: he wasn't out to kill us and he didn't feel threatened by the wilderness (or was hollow in the head).

Rallbrook walked out into the open first, both paws up and apart. The miserable rodent started at first, but he calmed down once the guppy started yapping. "Peace. We mean you no harm, friend."

The mouse's nose twitched. "We?"

Rall nodded back at us and Inlo moved out of his crouched, cramped position, finally givin' me some space to breathe. "He may be big, but he's as good-natured as a badger," the otter vouched as the runt's body unfolded into a towering height. I came last, brandishing my spear as I went. Probably didn't need to do that, seein' as how the stranger nearly wet himself when he saw Inlo.

"I'm Rallbrook, warrior of Redwall," our great and brainless 'leader' introduced, sweeping a paw towards each of us. "This is Inlo, a wolf of the Northern villages. They're peaceful folk there and he's traveled a _long_ way with Miria Wildshore of Seafoam Isle." He clapped his arms against his sides and flashed another one of his smiles. "And who might you be?"

The mouse's voice was more grizzled-soundin' than I thought. It was like a lard-bellied geezer stuck in a body twenty seasons younger. "My name's Archibald. I live in a village just..." He frowned at Inlo. "... somewhere around here." Obviously he had a bit o' brains if he wanted to be careful around a furry blob of muscle and claws.

"D'ye mind if we stop by?" Rall asked. "We've been traveling quite a bit and we'd really appreciate some hospitality." The mouse regarded Rall for a quick bit before his gaze settled back on the wolf.

"Aye. You say you're from Redwall, friend?"

Rall nodded, cocking his head to the side as he crossed his arms over his scrawny chest. "Redwall Abbey. M' mum's the abbess there."

Archibald's eyes lit up. "The mother abbess, y'say?"

"Yeah. And I'm the abbey champion." His paw slapped the sword at his hip so that the red pommel caught the sunlight. _S is for subtle,_ Kilmar told me once. _S for subtle and survival._ I'd have to introduce the guppy to Kilmar's version of the alphabet after I twist his stupid head off.

"Abbey champion," the stranger marveled.

"And the good name of Redwall would be in yer debt if you'd be kind 'nough to help us on our way."

"What way?"

Rall winked. "Wish I could say right now, but how 'bout we discuss this over some nice bowl of hotroot soup. Always loosens m' tongue." The mouse seemed a little put off, but he got over it and motioned us back the way he came.

"Right. Right this way, right this way," he instructed, still staring at the runt. If Inlo was upset about the suspicion, he didn't show it. Instead, he just picked up the bulk of our possessions and followed Rall and Archibald back the way he came. I picked things up from the rear, keeping an eye out for anything. Woodlanders were usually more annoying than dangerous, but I could never be sure.

Speakin' of which, our guide was definitely more of the annoyin' sort than deadly. All Rall had t'do was give his jaws a little grease and then the mouse kept yammering on and _on_ about mushrooms. A 'forager' they call him. Yup. Just goes outside to pick up some truffles if he could find 'em. It was mushrooms this, mushrooms that. Tree mushrooms, land mushrooms, buried mushrooms, family secret of findin' mushrooms... Some legacy that every sane beast would'a been ashamed of. I liked him better when he was all jittery about Inlo.

He didn't even pause for a breath when we started hitting a trail again. Soon enough, the woods thinned and a tiny village appeared. A cluster of little wooden cabins dotted the clearing and beasts milled around it, stopping dead in their tracks when they noticed us. Some chased their brats back indoors, others rushed inside to start railing on gossip, a few dull ones carried on with their business, and the rest of them came dragging their carcasses straight for us with tails swishing anxiously behind their sorry bottoms.

"Welcome to our humble village, warriors of Redwall!" squeaked the mouse. I imagined him bein' smooshed by a boulder so that all his enthusiasm could dribble on the floor... along with his brains. And his village wasn't even good enough to be called "humble," whatever that word means.

If I thought the Redwallers were talky, the villagers were actually worse. They swarmed in on us with all their babble. "Are you from Redwall?" "Can I hold the sword of Martin?" "Is that a giant fox?" "Can I _touch_ the legendary Sword?" "Are you on a quest?" "Is the monster a prisoner?" "Did Martin send you on your journey?" "Will he hurt us?" "How is Redwall?" "Your mother's _the_ Mother Abbess?" and "Can I pleeeease lick your feet, Mister Rallbrook, sir? Pleeeeease?" and other drivel. By the way Rall's head swelled twice the size, they might as well ask t' pucker up to his bum.

I just stood aside and watched as males and maids swooned at the two brick-heads. The runt and guppy duo tried to fend themselves off with smiles and words. Anybeast who spared me a glance was smart enough t' keep movin' along. Rall's plan to wait things out at the campsite wasn't a bad choice, but it was still risky. Things worked out for him that time but it wouldn't always turn up with a harmless Archibald.

"Big fox s-standing right in front of me. Big fox. Big- big teeth'n chompers."

I turned around and saw a tussle-spiked, dirty-faced hedgehog gawking at Inlo. "Big fox s-standing in front of me. Big big teeth. Very big and bigger'n big."

"I am a wolf," the runt said. "Not a vermin." I don't understand why it took the village so long to figure that out. He'd only repeated that sentence a thousand times. The hedgehog blinked a few times and cringed.

"Big wolf standing in front of me. Big wolf with big giant teeth. Lots of teeth," he chattered. Inlo didn't really know what to say to the little freak, so he just walked off all confused. But the hedgehog wasn't really done. "Otter. Big tall otter. Stranger stranger otter danger. Sword at the hip, don't let it slip or the mouse will... or the mouse will..."

He turned to me and I saw the lines etched on his face and the hollow look in his eyes. You don't need me t' tell you that the fur on my neck stood straight up. It wasn't really what he said, but also the way he said things. It was like he was constantly in shock, limbs jittering and cringing as he spoke.

"Verdill," a hogmaid scolded, grabbing him by the elbow. As jumpy as he seemed, he didn't even flinch or try to fight her. He slumped a bit as she tugged at him, spikes all abristle. I just shrugged it off. Every family has an idiot and every village has a lunatic. Nothing new.

So, we got set up in the village in some "hero's stay" sort of thing - free meals and beds. Besides the fact that the guppy, runt, and I would be sharing rooms, I guess it's not much to complain about. It was gonna be a little quiet and relaxing, and I was just about to like the speck of a hamlet, but _no_. Oh, no. They decided to throw us a full-blown feast.

As if we didn't get enough of those damn things at Redwall!

As the sun set, everybeast had set up the benches and were stirring the cooking fires like crazy, babbling on about how special the abbey was and how beasts didn't get much visitors there. I wanted to gag.

"This is exciting," Inlo grinned as he stared at the hullabaloo happening outside our window. "Wolves only have four ceremonies. Only alphas have a fifth." I groaned inwardly from my seat on the floor. My arms were crossed over m'chest and had one leg pulled up with its knee pointing up while the other curled underneath it. The position looked lazy, but with my spear within arms reach and the door right beside me, it wasn't a bad compromise between relaxed and cautious.

"How lucky of you," I said with a roll of my eyes.

"Luck! It is a good sign!" All sarcasm was completely lost on the wolf. "But you woodlanders have many ceremonies, yes? One for each season lived?"

"You mean a birthday?" asked Rall as he dabbed another cloth over one of his spare shirts. It had a few dirt-stains from his travels, but the prissy little beast wanted to look his best for the feast.

"Yes, yes," agreed the runt. "A birthday. The woodlanders at my village called them breathdays."

"_Breath_days?" I scoffed.

"I've heard o' namedays and birthdays, but never that," Rall admitted.

The savage suddenly looked unsure of himself and I'm sure I saw his tail tuck a little between his legs. "To mark the seasons since he'd taken his first breath."

"Oh." The guppy nodded in understanding. "But you wolves don't celebrate birth- er, I mean breathdays?"

He shook his head. "We only have the four ceremonies."

"And which ones are those?"

"Each one a symbol of the four seasons," he spouted. "The night of the birth, his day picked as claw brother, his first mating under a full moo-"

"Do you want me to vomit?" I snapped.

Inlo cocked his head and his mouth opened to a tiny li'l 'o'. "No."

I snorted and let my head lean against the wall, back in its resting place. "It's gonna take a lot o' drink to burn that image outta my head. Thanks a lot."

"You are welcome," he said with a perk of his ears. Rall turned away to hide his smile.

"So how 'bout it, Inlo?" he asked once he got his tittering out of the way. "How many ceremonies have you had so far?"

"One," the runt admitted lowly.

"Surprise, surprise," I said. "It's not like we expected him to get the third one down." I wasn't even sure if he'd ever actually survive t' that point (or get hitched). Even if he'd managed t'get as far as the bed, the she-wolf would've probably laughed at it.

The runt pinned his ears against his head while the guppy ignored me. "So mate, when d'ye get the second ceremony?"

"The first spring of my fourth cycle. I was born in the summer, so," he sighed, "I must wait three more seasons than the others."

"How's that work?" I asked.

"Cubs are supposed to be born in the spring to receive Astrel's Blessing," he explained, once again usin' his wolf-lore mumbo-jumbo. "When a wolf has four-"

"Excuse me, who's Astro?" Rall interrupted.

"_Astrel_ is the spirit of spring, light, and birth," the wolf told him. "Do you remember, Miss Miria?"

"Yeah, yeah. Get on with the blessing bit."

Rall opened his trouty mouth for another question but thought better of it. Instead, he moved over to lean on the wall opposite me, scrubbin' away at his 'best shirt' as the runt went on.

"Astrel only gives cubs her blessings in the spring," he continued in his choppy, deep-throated accent. "One blessing for every cycle of the seasons. A cub must have four blessings to earn his place as claw brother."

"So... when a cub turns sixteen?" Rall repeated.

Inlo's brows furrowed in his typical pathetic, confused sorta way. "No... When a cub is on his fourth cycle." Regular beasts liked things like sets o' twos, threes, fives, and tens. Why the hell wolves chose four, I had no flipping clue.

"A fourth cycle means going through the four seasons _four_ times," the otter argued lightly. "That's sixteen seasons."

"Most wolves have the rite when they are ten-and-six," Inlo said stiffly. "But I will be at ten-and-eight seasosn."

All I could think of the mess was that wolves were a little more crazy'n regular beasts. Rall, however, wanted to be a Redwall-know-it-all and began scratchin' the side of his head, asking questions like he always did. "Because you were born in the summer?"

"Yes."

The guppy's fish-eyes lit up. "So your third season marked your first spring which started your first cycle."

"Yes! Correct!" Inlo looked like he was ready t'do a little jig. In fact, his tail was already doing one, whipping back and forth and nearly smacking a lamp off the nightstand.

"Ha! Got it!" Rall beamed. "So you wolves measure time by cycles instead of seasons, then?"

"Both, but we look more to spring cycles, which is our custom."

"I see. And what about this 'claw brother' thing?"

"A claw brother is the younger brother to the fang brother," Inlo said. "You woodlanders have two types of brothers, yes?" Rall gave him a puzzled look before I stepped in.

"He's talking about a brother and brother-in-law, guppy."

"I was just thinkin' that, hag," he shot back. Hag. It wasn't even a creative nickname. But for a beast with brains like Rall, it was probably something he was proud of.

"Yes, those," said Inlo, ignorant to the two-second conflict. "A wolf has a blood brother, the other son of his mother. But he also has two other brothers. On the fourth cycle, a full-grown wolf will choose a cub to be his claw brother. The claw brother will learn from him - how to hunt pigeons, fish, farm, track, and survive in the wilds. The one who teaches is the fang brother, and both will work together for four cycles until the claw brother is ready to be a fang brother."

Rall's face screwed in thought. "So... a mentor-pupil sorta role."

"Yes."

"Makes sense," he said with a shrug. "But if-"

A knock on the door _finally_ interrupted the conversation. We all turned to see the door crack open so that Archibald's beady-eyed face peered over at us. "Sorry about the intrusion, warriors, but your feast awaits you." I looked out the window. A few minutes ago the sun was setting and there wasn't a speck of food set out yet. But right then it was dark, they got a huge bonfire blazing in the center of the village and the tables were decked out in a surprising little spread. I could just smell the hotroot soup bubbling in the cauldrons.

Inlo was already bouncin' out the door and I followed after, leaving Rall to get all trussed up for the feast. Really, the guppy fussed more than a maid when it came to clothes. By the time I'd sat down with a full plate, Rall was already outside and bein' ambushed by a bunch o' ottermaids eager to lean on his shoulders and hear stories of his 'bravery'. Huh. And Inlo got his own little followers- li'l brats that hung onto his arms while he hefted their weight. Barely sixteen and he was already stronger than everybeast in the village.

"Fire, the fire! I don't like the fire. No. Not the fire," mumbled somebeast behind me. I turned at the familiar voice and at the bothersome hedgehog that stared at the raging flames.

"You aren't near the fire, Verdill," said the hogmaid next to him. Bein' that we were sittin' on the very edge of the crowd, that much was true. "Hush and eat your porridge."

"P-p-porridge has lice."

"Hush now!" She gave an embarrassed look around t'see if anybeast'd heard. "I made the porridge myself. No lice."

"Lice, lice. Bit on mice," he rhymed, staring in my direction with those glassy eyes of his. "It's a little pickle, so give a trice." His young caretaker spotted me and gave a shy smile. I snorted and turned away from the looney tantrum.

"Don't mind him. It's just Verdill." And what a joy it was t' have Archibald sitting next t'me. I didn't say anything, but silence didn't seem to keep anybeast away in a feast. Instead, the mouse just leaned in a little closer to me. "He's not sound of mind, I think."

"No joke."

"Talkative nonsense, but harmless," he assured. _That and every other beast I've been runnin' into these days_, I thought to myself.

"I don't- no. I don't eat with vermin. Figgety, fidgety vermin fox. I dont- I don't..."

"Shhhhhh! Verdill, it's _rude!_" the hogmaid scolded.

"His younger sister Petunia." The guide slurped some thick broth from his spoon. "Been caring for the boy every since he fell off his rocker, the poor thing. Sad waste of life," he said with a flick of his spoon as he rolled his eyes towards the siblings. I nodded and bent my head towards my plate. I would've told him off and got him to keep his distance, but I wanted t'keep my ears open on what the lunatic was railing on about.

"Vermin, vermin, foxy vermin," he whimpered. "Bushy bushtail at our tables. He'll ruin the wood. Ruin. Ohh..." From the corner of my eye, I saw him drop his plate on the floor while Petunia fretted and tried to bring him back under control.

"That's a _wolf_, Verdill. And stop or else he'll hear you." She bent to pick up his mess and hissed in frustration as he dropped more gobs of food down on her.

"I don't eat with vermin!" he scowled, flopping his legs around so that his heels thumped against the bottom of his seat. "Eat feet. Load of peat. Grah!" Several heads turned at the outburst, but I don't think Inlo heard. He was still too busy entertaining the village brats.

"Verdill's not usually so bad," Archibald defended. "I'm sorry. He really isn't. The feast is exciting him is all."

"I don't care," I muttered. "The ravings of a madbeast isn't really an insult."

The mouse's face twisted into a conflicted smile. I'd seen that look plenty of times before. It was the look beasts get when they realize I wasn't gonna warm up to them. "But I must get going. You have a good day, miss." He turned to check out Verdill's state before retreating from the outskirts of the feast and more towards the chittery center.

"But the _vermin!_" the looney yelped. Even if I was looking from the corner of my eyes, I could still see that he was tremblin' with fear. Something had set him on edge, but it wasn't Inlo. The wolf'd moved from one side o' the crowd to the other, but Verdill was still gaping at one direction - me.

"Quit your staring, Verdill." The sister's voice was taut with frustration. "Stoppit or I swear I'll-"

"Fox, fox, fox!" he announced. "Fox, fox, under rocks! He won't leave her alone, Petunia. Can't- won't..." A shadow dashed across his face and his voice died down to a frightened whimper. "_He_ doesn't like him. _He_ doesn't like the white fox. He's lookin' at me, Petunia. The white fox looks at me... looks at us."

I whirled around and saw that hedgehog sitting hunched in his seat, his grubby, trembling claw pointing not at me, but at the empty air just beside my shoulder.

* * *

**C/N: Ha! From the title, you saps prob'ly thought it was somethin' romantic between the shrimp and Corinne, huh? Well, jokes on you! For those of ya who are grumblin' about wanting more of their lovey-dovey tripe, shame on you, you sickos. Mind your own damn business. You're stuck with me now, so get used to living without sparkles and flowers.**

**Now, thanks to popular demand from you reviewers on the latest chapter from The Memories That Make Us, Jade's cooked up a few more of the runt's traditions in this chapter. That, and she's been working on the guppy's character and right now, she hates him almost as much as me. She also doesn't like this chapter much, but we'll see where this thing about ghosts is going. And quit your mewling. Jade'll get you back to Southsward soon enough.**

**So see that little box below this line? Type some gobbly-gook in there and click the "Post Review as Whoever-the-hell-you-are" button. Stop whinin' and just do it, already!**


	28. Hungry

**A/N: Special thanks to those who reviewed since the last update - Saraa Luna, Blackish, Professor-Evans, Free Thought, Anonymous Human, Quaver Ava, and Airan's Enigma. Thanks a bunch you guys!**

**And I also want to point out that there was a bit of confusion in the last chapter as to Rall's actions. He was not trying so much to be actiony, but he wanted to hang back to see their possible 'enemy.' Note that he never actually swung his sword or made any threats once he saw the face of their perceived threat.**

**This next chapter was a little harder to write (though the last chapter wasn't that great to begin with). For this chapter, I broke into the creepy songs in my playlist. These include "A Disquieting Atmosphere" and "Suspense" from Professor Layton and the Diabolical Box, the ending and beginning themes of the Ghost Hunt anime, and "The Hidden Terror" from Supernatural, among others.**

**Now... let's see if I can write a bit of spook...**

* * *

**Hungry**  
Miria Wildshore

_"The boundaries which divide Life and Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where one ends, and the other begins?"_ - Edgar Allen Poe

* * *

It was like a chisel to the skull. What was a flat-brained hedgehog a minute ago was giving me chills all over. He still looked the same, but something was just _off_ about him. It was as though the colors were smeared and smudged on the outlines of his body, merging together to form a messy haze of a shadow.

Everybeast else was unnerved by him, but I don't think that they saw - or felt - what I did.

"What fox?" I rasped.

"There," he whispered, nodding at my shoulder and at the empty seat next t' me. I wondered what Keetch thought, or if he was actually there at all. The freak's caretaker slapped him harmlessly on the shoulder.

"Verdill, stop spooking her," she screeched. Then she said t'me, "Please don't mind him. He's not... he's not seeing straight." She smiled nervously and tried t'mop off the porridge slopped on his mouth.

"What's the fox doing?" I asked Verdill.

His eyes were shiny with welling tears, pupils darting back and forth like some crazy argument was firing off. "What's the fox doing?" I repeated, rising out of my seat. Petunia rushed from around the table to reach me, but I gave her shoulder a shove that told her to stay put. "What's he doing?" I barked.

The hedgehog seer-whatever was leaning back into the air, stretchin' his doughy his neck like somebeast was strangling him. Believe me, if he kept it up, the strangling would'a been a real thing. "H-he..." His eyes darted to his stomach and he cringed and wept, shaking his head like he'd seen death itself.

"I don't..." he wheezed. "Please! Take the porridge. Petuniaaaaa!"

"What's he doin'?" I repeated, slamming both palms on the table, leaning forward so that I was starin' him down. "He sleeping? Lazing? Talking? Walking? Breathing? _What?!_"

"Stoppit!" came his sister's shrill voice. She tried to grab my sleeve, but I swatted her paws away and snarled at her pathetic brother.

"He's saying... saying... OoooOOOOH!" His voice escalated and instinct made me distance my face from his. "Why? Leave me alone! WHY? Why can't you lemme ALOOOOOONE!" he howled, sweeping his arm over the table so that all the dishes and food collided with the dirt ground. The crash was jarring and I felt all eyes turn.

"Stop! Please!" the hogmaid wailed at me. She could yodel all she liked, but my eyes and ears were on Verdill.

"Saying?" I grabbed the tops of his sleeves and hauled him closer. "What's he saying to ya?" There was a stumble of footpaws behind me and a beast snared my waist while a paw wrenched my arm from him.

"NO!" I squirmed in their grip, keeping my eyes locked on Verdill. He was staring towards me, but not at me; more like places around me. A tear trickled down his cheek and his entire jaw quivered. "What's he saying to you?" I screeched. "Tell me! I _need_ to know!"

"N-not to me," he gasped. "Not to me or him. Especially not him. He _hates_ him. Hate hates him like the porridge and the... Ohh..." He gripped the sides of his head while his sister rushed to calm him. He kept shaking, rocking back and forth in his seat so much that I thought he was gonna topple over. He kept his ears covered, like he was blockin' out screams from somewhere horrible.

The arms around me hefted up and nearly pried me from the table altogether. I gripped my fist in a palm and slammed my elbow into the beast at my back. I heard him grunt as his kidney took a bruise.

"Stop it!" my attacker yelled in my ear, spraying spittle all over my cheek.

"What's he saying?" I demanded Verdill. He was humming to himself, rocking, and sweating, and looking all constipated.

He looked up, his eyes glazed like they were starin' at something far and away. I almost didn't hear it when he said, "Miria, leave it alone." I knocked my head back and felt it crack against something- hopefully a snout instead of a chin.

"I'm warning you!" my assailant puffed. I ignored the smell of blood and snapped my head back again as I clawed at another beasts' arm.

I kept eyes on Verdill the entire time. "What?" I screamed back at him.

"That's what he says."

_Miria, leave it alone!_

Everything pitched forward and the tabletop zoomed towards me faster'n an arrow. _Slam!_ I flailed and my face squashed against the table a second time. I reached my arms around and raked my claws against a sleeved arm before he threw my head against the table again. And again! That time I felt like my ears and nose were clogged with water while my snout pulsed. I beat the back of my head against his chest.

They slammed my head against the table one more time. That last one was the worst. Light exploded in the darkness and I couldn't move for a second. When I could, my arms were like rubber as I tried t'push myself up. It took all three of 'em four tries, and I was still moving. I hocked bloody saliva from my mouth.

"You fight like a bunch'a crippled girls," I grated.

"She's still awake."

"One more ought to do it." I felt myself being hauled up by my arms for a final throw. Everybeasts' faces blurred together in some kind of hellish whirl.

"Stop! Stop! Leave her alone!" Rall was standing in front o' me, prying me outta their grasp. I tried t'stand but I slouched forward against his shoulder. He fumbled with my half-standing body, clumsily tryin' to get me to lie back in his arms without dropping me to the ground. I pushed off'a him and stumbled, falling against the bench while my head lolled uselessly and bile bubbled in the back o' my throat. The air stood still in my lungs and all I wanted t'do was heave. More faces crowded around and everybeast was whispering as I retched my food all over the table. I hope they liked that; I really did.

It was Inlo that plucked me up and carried me back to the room. I knew it was him by the way he snarled and how everybeast scattered like roaches.

That was the last thing I remembered before goin' under.

* * *

After that, I found myself in darkness. Not the kind of darkness you find at night, but _real_ darkness. The kind in deep caves or in a suffocating room. I stood up - or at least I tried to. Instead, I started to feel the ground disappear, dissolving into nothing beneath me. I waited for the fall but I only felt the floating sensation o' being in water. Not floating on top, but just staying pinned somewhere between the endless blue sky and the silent, violent abyss.

"Keetch?" I called out, still bobbing in the heavy air, my limbs hanging limp and useless. "I know you're there, you gutless fox." I felt myself move lower and the harsh blackness softened into seeable shapes and shades. The weird weight keeping me afloat was gone and I was sitting on a dirt floor, watching as the place rippled to my senses.

A light began in the distance, like a hundred fireflies warming up at the same time. Their dull orange glows brightened to white as they bundled tight together, a half-moon blooming to full. Then there were the rough shacks around me, all empty and all lonely. It looked like the village if it was abandoned, but all the little hamlets looked the same anyways. I shivered and got to my footpaws as I looked around for the stinking vermin.

I peered into one of the houses and saw that it was hollow. No life, not even a chair. But something moved in the corner of my eye and I snapped around. Something was there, but it was still too dark to see. Even though I couldn't make it out, I knew something was wrong. Our special little 'meeting places' inside my melon was usually demented, but Keetch always made himself known. He didn't hide.

I backed away slowly and walked to the center of the ring of houses, hugging my arms as I went. It wasn't cold or nothin', but I felt like I needed to hold onto something and my spear was nowhere in the dream. I shuddered again and froze in mid-step.

There was a snuffling sound behind me.

Not the same kind of sounds that the runt made when he was on a scent. He was always obvious about it, inhaling deep and steady. But the skulking _thing_ was quick about it, secret and barely heard. My imagination coughed up a sightless, drooling thing with a long cloak and crooked, branching arms.

The thing gave a long crackling groan behind me and the hairs on my neck pricked like needles. I clenched my fist around the non-existent spear and gulped the thick saliva in my throat.

I willed my head to rotate, my neck creaking as it went through the movement. My chin was just over my shoulder when I heard Keetch's voice hiss at me. "Don't look! Leave it!" I whirled back around and saw the snowfox standing off beside one of the houses and shielded from the stranger's view.

Standing stiff as a board, blind to whatever was behind me, I felt naked. At least whenever my dreams were of dank empty room or a filled with smokey haze, I knew that I was alone with Keetch.

"Slowly," he urged. "But don't look behind."

He waved me over, his gesture slow and churning. I gulped and carried some painfully slow pace, ears perked for thin footfalls or crawling sounds that might follow me or pick up speed. But it faded as I went on. To me, the silence was worse than the shuffling; it could be nowhere and everywhere. My heart beat in my ears, faster and faster like it was trying to set the pace for my legs.

I kept my eyes forward, my legs movin' with the vermin's arm movements. His amber eyes glinted with fear and his tail was shoved between his knees. But he kept his gaze over my shoulder, which at least meant that he was watching over me. When I was finally close enough, he grabbed me by the shoulders and shoved me behind him while he checked for signs of whatever was out there.

"What?" I breathed. "What the hell is that?" I craned my neck but he pushed me away.

"I said not to look!" he barked. "Now shut up and get down!"

I would'a made him eat his tail, but with that thing on the loose it was better to stay quiet. I'd have plenty of time t' make Keetch pay but only if we both survived whatever was goin' on.

His ears swiveled and he spun around and around and around like something was always whispering to him right behind his ear. I hadn't seen his whiskers so frazzled since the first day he showed his slimy face. Finally, he calmed down, pacin' in slow circles before dragging me into the closest house. He tip-toed around like he was stepping on eggshells the whole way, checking cabinets and pantries and barring doors and windows with flimsy wood before hunkering down in a corner of a kitchen. Seein' that he'd finally run out of his Crazy, I sat across from him, my knees drawn up to my chest while I wished I had my spear with me.

"So you gonna tell me what's happening?"

He practically lunged at me, his tail in a twist all over again. His claws dug into the fabric o' my tunic and reeled me close. So close that if he was alive, I would've been breathing in his rotting breath. "Did you see it? Did _it_ see _you_?!"

"What?" I gasped, snagging my claws into his wrists to pull 'im off. "No."

"I've been trying to warn you," he said in a violent whisper. "Whatever you do, Miria, _don't_ stare at it alone! Don't talk to it, don't look at it! As far as you're concerned, it doesn't exist!"

"What are you talking about?" I wanted to shout, but I had the uneasy feeling that something was hunting in the darkness just on the other side of the wall.

"I'm talking about that thing!" He yanked me closer so that his piercing golden eyes were all I could see. "You heard it, you _felt_ it!"

I let m'paws drop a little and whispered, "What is it?"

In a few moments he'd calmed down enough so that he wasn't leaking all over himself. He let go of me, nodded his head, and looked at the door behind me just to make sure we were safe. I scooted myself around so that I was also facing the entrance, though I kept a close eye on Keetch to make sure he didn't try anything with me.

"You know the hedgehog isn't insane," he began. I nodded. "And did you notice anything strange about him?"

"The hedgehog? Hm. You mean the hedgehog that can see ghosts and raves like a madbeast? _Hm._ He doesn't seem strange _at all_."

"I don't need your sarcasm," he snapped, baring some fangs while he was at it. "Did you sense something dark about him?"

I thought a bit and remembered that somethin' seemed off the last I saw him. "Y-yeah. It was like a dark outline around him. Like... it's hard to say."

"How did it _feel?_"

"I didn't feel anything," I whispered back. "A little strange, I guess... Like that burst in m'stomach I get when I feel like I'm falling, except it was slow, I guess. Now will you tell me what's really going on? Why is that- that _thing_ in the dream with us? How do I get outta here and why the hell are you so afraid of it? Actually, let's start with this- what the hell is it?"

"A lost spirit."

"Yeah... And?"

"It's an angry one," the seer explained, eyes still glued to the doorway. "We've been pretty close to one already, but he's not nearly as potent as the one we're facing."

"Which one have we been pretty close to?"

"Martin the Warrior." The mouse with the sword. And just when I thought I was rid of him, too.

"So why is he skulking around here?" I asked. The damn Redwallers always had a knack for making me hate 'em more'n'more.

"It's not _Martin_ lurking here," he snapped. "Weren't you even listening? I just said he wasn't as potent."

"Alright, alright," I snorted.

"Besides," the fox continued, "Martin is powerful and never bothers with hiding or sniffing the ground on his paws and knees. The creature out there is completely mad- deranged. He's been a ghost so long that he's lost all sense of himself. Memories, family, morals - all dead to him now. All he knows is that he's miserable with the way he is and he's latched on to whoever has what he wants."

"And what _does_ he want?"

"Life."

"Life?" I repeated. "But why Verdill? Why a half-brained hedgehog?"

"Simpleton or not, slave or king, it _means _something to be alive," he said with a bite in his tone. "You might think life is pointless- that everybeast is just running from something and going to wind up dead no matter what, but _I_ want to be alive. Every dead spirit roaming this world wants to be alive. You get to talk to other beasts, to move things, to make a difference no matter how small. Then there are ghosts like us - Martin and I - who used to fight evil and bring fortresses to ruin... but now we can't even shoo a fly. Instead we have to find someone who can hear us and see us; we spend seasons with them just so that we can do more than just whisper in ears or send snippets of dreams. You think that I like visiting you or always walking behind your rudder? I have to spend all my time around you because you don't even have the wits to comprehend the simplest of signs."

"Yeah yeah, I'm not my brother. You've already told me before," I bit back. Marko was always the smartest, anyways.

He backed off a little and cleared his throat. "I've watched over you for all twenty-five seasons of your life, since the day you and Marko were conceived." _Pervert. _"This is the ninth season since I connected with you and _this _is the level that we have bonded to," he continued. "We've_ grown_ to being able to talk like this." It's true. When I first saw him it was only for a few seconds in dreams or rippling reflections in water.

"Now," he said, "I saw how poisoned and twisted the hedgehog's mind is. For the spirit to mangle him that way, it probably took a lot of time. Twenty seasons at the very least and the villagers probably didn't help to slow down its progress." Couldn't blame 'em for staying clear and wary of him, but as a general rule: a beast's cruelty is always triple what a stranger sees.

"Petunia was probably the only thing that kept Verdill from snapping completely," I agreed. "But why him? And who is the spirit?"

"I don't know who he is... or if it's even male. It's so broken from time that it's dissolved into this shapeless monster_. _It's shadows like them that give us spirits a bad name. Unlike me, those nightmares are mindless and angry from loneliness. It's solitude that drives some of them to wander and if they ever find a beast capable of hearing or seeing them, they latch on like the leeches they are. They are drawn to anything that can verify their existence, to make them feel like they still matter... that they're still alive."

"Are they rare?"

"What are?"

"The loonies that can see 'em."

"Quite." He raised three claws, knocking each one down as he listed things. "Either the beasts are born with the curse to see the other side, too weak of mind to stay grounded in the living, or there is a kinship between the spirit and the soul."

"And that's why we're bonded," I said. It wasn't a question. From the second the words left his mouth, I knew it was true.

"Yes," he admitted, slowly nodding. "I, with the sworn word of a seer, made a vow to Brink that sealed my soul to watching over his family." I opened my mouth, but he'd known me enough to know what I'd say next. "I tried my best," he interrupted. "There's only so much a mortal can do, but I'm _dead. _What makes you think I can do any better?"_  
_

"Whatever," I scowled, tightening my arms over my knees. "So how many of these spirits are out there? Why are we just finding this one right now?"

"There aren't many spirits," he said, golden eyes narrowing. "Most souls cross the gates of the Dark Forest. It's like a moth flying into the lamplight. Instinct. I wanted to go, but I always found my limbs wedged between the iron bars and the gate wouldn't open for me. It knew I'd sworn my soul somewhere else and I couldn't get in no matter how hard I tried. Other souls, out of love or confusion or maybe hell-bent on revenge, stay out of the gates. If they don't leave after three sunrises they're trapped in this world forever. They can't go back." He shook his head slowly and his white fur gave a little glimmer. "We can never go back. No matter how many of our friends and family die and move on, even if we watch our homes fall or go abandoned, even if our bloodline is erased... we stand for centuries, wandering around without a purpose... until we found someone who can sense us somehow, validate that we're still somehow _here_.

"That creature hiding in the shadows?" he continued, eyes flicking between me and the doorway. "He started out as a spirit and this is what he has become... Look what it's done to the hedgehog, poisoning him and choking out whatever sanity he has left. Whether or not he started his life as a goodbeast or vermin, it didn't matter in the end. He's become a monster. _That_ is what will become of me if you don't find Brink and release me from my bond."

"Isn't there some other way?" I asked. "In case the old seadog's dead?"

He bent his head. "Not that I know of."

"How long can you go on, then?"

"I don't know," he admitted.

"Well, you said that the Martin mouse is still around. Maybe you can last as long as him?"

Keetch scoffed at that, smiling grimly as he shook his head. "Anybeast less than Martin will go mad at some point. It also helps that he's worshipped all over Mossflower. The Northerners remember the story of the Grey War but give them a few generations. They'll forget me soon enough."

"No they won't!" I insisted. My uncle's statue stood tall in my memory. "You're a hero. You brought Greymorg crumbling to its knees. Brink never would've made it far without you."

His eyes narrowed. "And where was my statue?" I didn't have anything clever t'say about that.

He turned away from me to plant his attention back to the only entrance. "The rogue spirit has battered and warred against the hedgehog's senses since the moment he got attached," he said, conveniently changin' the subject. "The poor woodlander's been at his wit's end for a _long_ time and it won't be long until his will snaps. After that..." His voice trailed off and he clenched his jaw. I knew that look. He didn't like not havin' an answer to something.

"... After that," he continued, "I don't know. But I know he won't be back to anything he was before. The spirit's mind is just as broken as the hedgehog's. There won't be any healing from that. Once he forces himself into the hedgehog's brain, Verdill will appear twice as mad and savage. Gentle as he is, the hedgehog won't be in control of his body anymore. He'd hurt someone... if the village doesn't kill him first."

Archibald said that Verdill was young when he started to lose his mind. Judging from his appearance and Keetch estimating at a twenty-season-haunting, I guessed Verdill was only ten when it started. Even as a lunatic, Verdill didn't have a single mean bone in his body. Trust me; after all I'd been through, I was kind of an expert on sniffing out the nasties from the ninnies. And Verdill was definitely the second option. In fact, when he saw the spirit, he might've even waved or tried to welcome it. Whatever he did to doom himself, it was probably something stupid and naive. Hedgehogs. Each one was missing either a brain or a spine... most of th' time both.

But that didn't explain something. "But why can I see him?"

"Because you can see me," he replied, his urgency coming back at full force. "Our bond opens a lot of doors- doors that most beasts want to keep closed. And remember! You cannot let the spirit know you can see him. Never."

"But-"

"Never!"

"But why?" I whispered.

"Because once it knows you can see him, he might just switch from his broken host and onto you, the little parasite."

"So that's why you told me to leave it alone," I breathed. "At the feast and just now when I tried to get a look at him. If I tried too hard, if we made eye contact-"

"Then you would be in danger."

"But I'm already bonded to you," I declared.

He chuckled dryly. "You think that you can only die once? You think that the living are the only ones who can kill and torture each other? That I could just tell him 'She's taken' and expect him to mind his own business?" His eyes turned even more cold and serious. "Well I tell you that you think wrong."

I gulped. "Would you lose to him?"

He shrugged his scrawny shoulders. "I don't want to find out."

"But you're smarter than him. I can see that much. And where the hell is this so-called Martin the Warrior? Gates! Rall just keeps mucking things up!"

"We can't count on Martin for this," Keetch whispered with a shake of his head. "He's ancient but not all-powerful. He doesn't just focus on one beast alone like I do. His power is split up between near a dozen and it doesn't help that Rall is so far from Redwall. He could help but we shouldn't count on it. Just be safe and keep your head low. That means that when you wake up you must leave and you must pretend you don't see the spirit. After this dream, our bond will be stronger, but so will be your ability to see and hear the spirit. Whatever you do, you _mustn't_ react to it. Don't look at it, don't speak to it, don't mention it- _nothing!_ If you tell anybeast about this, they will think you're crazy or worse- they'll believe you and once the ghost has a sense he's been discovered, he might just find you. Do you understand?"

I nodded. It was a lot to take on. To think that some dead thing had the power to mentally cripple a beast... To think that they'd be depraved enough to go that far...

I shuddered. Well, it shouldn't have been a surprise. They used to be just like me, just like every damned beast, after all. The only difference between us is that one of us could still breathe.

"And remember, Miria," the fox said lowly, " get out as soon as you wake up. And don't you dare belittle the ghost or the hedgehog. Both of them are mad at this point, so don't think that you can reason with them or make them fear death. If you find yourself in trouble with the spirit, there's nothing you can do. You can soften the toll he'll take on your mind, but it will be all up to me to get rid of him. And if I lose, it's nothing but bad news for you. The hedgehog, though, you can deal with."

"He'll be easy, though."

"I told you not to underestimate them!" he flared. "Besides, it's not always the most skilled that wins battles. Sometimes the weight of victory depends on who is most willing to kill. Remember that."

I nodded. It sounded almost exactly like Kilmar's lesson, only except for 'most willing to survive', Keetch's saying emphasized death. Suddenly, the fox's white ears sprang straight up and he bared his fangs.

At first it was a tiny sound, like a crab scuttling across the floorboards. But instead of floorboards, it was the splintery front door; and instead of a crab, it was a curious paw. But one paw became two and the curiosity grew into hunger and then a hell-bent determination.

The formless monster squealed and battered at the barred door while I clasped my paws over my snout. It screeched in fury, a terrifying, wavering sound that echoed in the spaces of my ears. It slashed and hacked at the wooden door with its paws, scraping away at so much that its claws should've been bleeding at its nubs.

I nearly yelped as Keetch grabbed me by the collar and pulled me so close we were practically touchin' noses. "It knows I'm here. It can tell I'm hiding something. He doesn't know it's you- he can see you but he doesn't know it can go both ways. Hurry! Wake up and leave! Wake up and get far away from here or you'll end up like Verdill!"

The buffeting on the door stopped and I swallowed as I nodded. Everything was hushed for a moment... a deadly, horrifying kind of sound. And then another window rattled, shutters crackling as a mess o' dust billowed from the blinds. The nightmare squealed with delight as a hideous crack spiked across the wooden barrier.

"I'm coooming. Coming!"

Keetch's eyes were wide as saucers. "Do you understand everything I've said?"

"But what about you?"

The fox clamped a paw around my snout to keep my voice from bein' heard. "I'll hold my own!" he promised. "Just run away and I'll be close behind you."

"But-"

"I'm bound to you. I'll go wherever you go so long as I'm..." _Still alive?_ I finished inwardly.

"Just go!" he ordered. With on great heave, he shoved me back and I was falling just before I jolted awake.

* * *

**C/N: And that's Jade's Gates-awful attempt at writing scary. If she wants inspiration, she should just take a close look at your face. Eeeugh! So how can she make the horror-theme better? Well, she can do the world a favor by quitting the writing stuff, if you ask me. But that's not an option. Is it better'n the last chapter? How can she improve? Too info-dumpy? Any changes to what you think o' me? Not that I care or nothin'. You know what to do- review at the bottom!**


	29. Tangle

**A/N: I have no excuse for my long absence. Not really. I knew there was trouble when I started putting this chapter off like it was a sink full of dishes. And what happens when I avoid writing? I avoid everything that reminds me of the responsibility I hold towards you - the reader. That includes the other writers, the reviews I've gotten, and just... everything in general. I'm very very sorry to all of you that took the time to publish your words and got no response from me. I really am and that was selfish of me.**

**From here on out, though, nothing but clear skies. For those of you that I neglected, you will get a message from me in the next two days in the form of either a review or review reply. Now, you will see that I clearly struggled with writing this chapter but go ahead and review it fairly. I am comfortable with putting my name on this chapter but I really don't think it's anywhere close to my best. Either way, here it is...**

**But not without special thanks to all of the past reviewers: Free Thought, Professor-Evans, WildIvy15, Blackish, Anonymous Human, Airan's Enigma, Quaver Ava, Bladesniper13, and Cairn Destop. Even specialer thanks to Free Thought for nagging me about updating and for helping me make this week's chapter passable. :)  
**

* * *

**Tangle**

_"Every man carries a shadow; not his body only, but its imperfectly mingled spirit. This is his grief. Let him turn which way he will, it falls opposite to the sun; short at noon, long at eve. Did you ever see it?"_ - Henry David Thoreau

* * *

I woke up.

The wash of blue told me it was just dawn. The wood-and-straw ceiling was blank and bare. I looked to my side and saw that I was somewhere higher off the floor. It seemed that the runt and guppy gave me the cot. Speakin' of those two, a huge lump o' breathing blankets on the ground by the door. Inlo. And against the wall, Rall was snoozin' like the useful beast he was.

No spirits, no Keetch, no eerie silence, no creature sniffing around the ground to grind my mind t'bits.

My fur felt sticky, my eyes stung when I blinked, my cheeks and nose throbbed, my mouth was parched with a touch o' blood, but I had worse mornings.

At the very least, I wasn't in any danger. But as safe as I was, Keetch was somewhere out there battling against the shadows and the demented thing that would scarf down his soul. My last sight of him he was beggin' for my help and, for the first time, real afraid for himself. He'd probably never been so frantic... not since we lost Marko.

I squeezed my eyes shut and gulped, wondering if I was just losin' my mind or if it was all some kinda sick dream. But I had a throbbin' feeling in my gut that it was real.

The second I sat up I felt like hucking out everything left inside o' me. The insides of my neck felt like a twisted, sticky dishrag. Syruppy sweat dribbled down my face. I groaned and put a paw to my head as I shoved my footpaws down and pushed m'self to stand. I only staggered two steps before I gripped a nightstand for balance. The thing wobbled under my weight and its legs clattered with the floor. The sound was enough for the dozin' mongrel.

"Miss Miria!" The runt was already trippin' over his blankets to get at me. I waved him off and regained my balance, tottering over to my pack and spear.

"I need to get outta here." I nearly puked when I knelt for my things. My pack felt like it was loaded with boulders and my spear felt too big for my grip.

"What?" Rall was also getting to his footpaws. "What are you doing up?"

"You must rest," Inlo insisted.

"Get outta my way," I growled, pressing all my weight against the door before the lousy thing finally juttered open. I was free, but there was a scramble of pawsteps behind me. First was Inlo's gait, heavy and booming and especially slow when goin' through the door. Rall came close behind and I heard his fancy little belt buckle clacking as he fumbled to put it on.

"Miria!" he called. "Just hold it for a second!"

The host mouse family opened the door ahead of me and stepped out only for me to shove 'em back inside. They had nothing to do with it. It was between me and the nightmare boiling inside Verdill. No Inlo, no Rall. Once again, it was just me and Keetch.

I felt my strength returning and my heart started to thrum faster'n'faster. I pummeled my way through the front door and out into the open. The air clung to my fur and weighed me down, the orange sunlight spilled over the quiet sky, and I felt so out of breath and so, so cold. I had barely made it ten paces when my paws shook and my teeth chattered while my insides turned to jelly.

"You must stop!" Once free of the crammed hallways and doorframes, Inlo was quick as lightin'; or, at least, he seemed that way to my dizzy sight. He barred my way and I tried to walk 'round him. Where it took me three steps, he had to take one step to match. I coulda gotten through 'im if I was at my best but it was like my brains were jammed with cotton.

The only thing gettin' through my head were Keetch's words. _You have to leave!_

I had to leave. I had to.

"Miria."

I whirled and saw Rall standing behind me, arms akimbo in a fake look of peace. I knew that stance, though. The hares did it when they had me cornered on the island. Well I got caught once and I wasn't gettin' caught again.

"Don't try to stop me!" I snarled. By the way I got my beating last night, my face was gruesome enough that even a smile would make him wet his pants.

"Nobeast is trying to stop you," the runt rumbled behind me.

I whipped my head back to face him and held my chin up. "Then why are you blockin' me?" My throat felt raw and my lungs shriveled like raisins.

"We worry," Inlo explained, taking a step back. "You are wounded and..."

"Just lemme out!" I raved, waving my spear and pack in the air with all my might. "I don't have time to muck around like this!" I feigned a lunge and Inlo stepped back, whimpering with his tail flopping on the ground.

"Miria!" Rall yelled. "Just stop and talk to us. We'll-"

"Just calm down!" I yowled. "Everybeast _calm_ the hell _down!"_ The guppy just gaped at me while the villagers began appearing out of their doorsteps. With my pack's strap at my left elbow, I slammed my palm against my chest and held my spear up with my right paw. "I jis' wanna leave. Is that such a big problem?"

Silence.

I glanced around and my eyes burned every time I blinked. There, standin' off to the side, Verdill was gawking around with the rest of the crowd. His jaw was moving but nobeast paid any attention to him. That time, _I _was the ravin' lunatic.

If only they coulda seen what I saw.

The black tendrils were all around him, some wrapped around his neck and some stroking his cheek. A set of paws appeared out of the dark figures - long, twisted, skinny things wrapped in black velvet. Worst of all was the giant, black-toothed grin that sprouted from behind Verdill's ear. The cracked, laughing lips moved, whispering evil things... things that made the hedgehog drool while his eyes bugged out.

I wanted to scream at the crowd. I wanted to scream at them to open damn their eyes and I didn't realize there were tears until I felt the droplets on my footpaws. I didn't stop to wipe my face or anything. My paws shook too much and I thought I'd choke on my breath. Keetch was out there somewhere, maybe even torn to pieces and all I could do was cry.

"I'm going to leave!" I heaved, swiping my spear so that everybeast could hear it cut the air. "I'm gonna leave and I'll kill anyone who tries to stop me. That means you, runt!"

I swerved around Inlo and that time he didn't dare block me. My shoulders were shaking and all I could think about was Keetch. Was there a reason why I hadn't seen or heard him after I woke? If he was gone, would I ever know it? Would there be some gut feeling that something was missing? Or would I go on, always seein' him in the corner of my mind only for it to be a regular dream or just my imagination?

What would it be like without him?

To be completely alone?

A putrid stream marked the very edge of the village and I sloshed right through it. I didn't care if the water splashed over the hem of m' tunic and I didn't stop when I slipped. I didn't even have time to curse when my footpaw and knees stung with every step. I charged on 'til my breath ran ragged and torn, 'til my legs were gonna crumple or turn to useless dough, when sweat and tears and snot dribbled down my face like a blasted waterfall.

_Is he safe?_ I wondered. _Did I do enough?_

Keetch was always been around. My brother was always his favorite but that skinny vermin never stopped lookin' out for me. If he was gone then what would I do with m' scummy life? What'll be left of Marko? Of my damn parents?

"Miria!" The guppy's shrill, naggy voice echoed out behind me.

"Miss Miria!" rang Inlo's call. I looked behind me and saw the bloodtrail that traced my way back. They came in little broken spiderthreads of crimson, each step stamped with sloppy liquid lacework on the ground. Huh! Even a mole could'a followed it without a problem.

"Miria!"

I saw Inlo bounding up to me first. The packs strapped to his back made him look like some barbaric mountain and I swear I could'a felt the ground shake from his fat weight. I turned away before he could see my face and kept on hobblin' along.

"You bleed!" His voice practically landed right on top o' me. The runt swooped in front of my face and pinned my arms tight to my sides. If I was well I would'a sliced him in two. I had to keep going.

"Lemme go!" I howled, kicking my legs as I thrashed around. "Lemme go! You! Don't! Under! Stand!" He was some poor kid that had a pike on the end o' his fishin' line. His eyes bulged but the scare made him grip me even harder. I had to keep going.

"Miria!" Rall snuck up behind me and grabbed hold of my legs. I tried to catch him in the snout but he got away with it. I screamed and gnashed my teeth and threatened to shove my spear down their throats. I even sank my teeth onto Inlo's arm but he barely even flinched as they forced me to sit on a log. They were going to ruin everything.

"Hold still! I said _hold still!_" the guppy ordered.

"No!"

"Your leg is wounded!" Inlo, empty-headed as ever, still blurted the obvious. "Be still!" I struggled even harder when Rall circled one arm around my ankles to fish around his pack. That fight didn't get me anywhere, though. I was exhausted and my head felt like it was being drowned in a keg of grog. Keetch was gonna die.

Both of my so-called companions were killing me. Inlo held me on his lap, wrapping me in a disgusting hug like I was some tantrum toddler. Rall, on the other paw, knelt in front o' me while fussing over the tiny little cuts on my knees and footpaw. The damn villagers didn't even know how t'make their streams safe. I hoped a bunch o' them drowned in that knee-deep water.

"You gotta lemme go," I panted, struggling with twice the effort and half the heart. It only lasted a second, but it was enough to jostle the cloth Rall'd pressed on my pretty little scrape. "Please."

"Be still, be still," Inlo soothed. His breath felt hot and sticky in my ear.

"You _idiots_!" I said behind clenched jaws. "It's a matter of life and death."

"What life?" asked the runt. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to just shout everything. But they wouldn't believe me. They'd just call me a loon like the villagers did Verdill. Hell! Even _I_ wondered if I'd snapped.

"Let me walk and I'll tell ya."

"No," the wolf replied evenly.

As for stinking Rall, the otter just kept to his work, makin' a fine tangle outta the bandages while he saw to my ankle. I could only watch as the white fabric folded over the cut so that red bloomed over it. The wound was only half the length of my finger and just about the same width. That was a lot of blood for a tiny cut. He wrapped another layer of bandage right on top of it, so I couldn't see how much blood anyways. My scrapes were double the size of coins but they were shallow at least. All the while, I struggled and cursed and threatened and worked to hold back the wave of vomit buildin' up behind my throat. The only thing distractin' me from unleashing my stomach was the mincing pain of bandages tightening in knots.

"Now that you've calmed down," Rall said, finally finished with those damn things, "I want t'know what in Seasons has gotten into ya."

My mouth was thick with nauseating spit - a sure sign of a good puke back on its way. I swallowed it down and grimaced at the aftertaste. "First, you let me go."

"No." For the first time, his green guppy eyes were serious and a little dangerous. A little.

"Then I won't talk," I bargained.

"Fine." He sat down on a log and plopped his elbows on his knees. "We can wait. But you don't look like you can - for whatever reason."

I struggled again but it was like being locked between two mucking boulders. "I don't have the time."

"Do you know who else doesn't have th' time for nonsense?" he asked coldly. "Me. I don't anymore."

"Oh boo-hoo!" I jeered, thrashing one more time for a last-ditch rebel act.

"D'ye know why?" he pressed. "Because I followed you into this fool's quest and besides plodding along and dodging snaps from ya, I have to go explain to villagers why you went bonkers in the middle of a feast. Inlo and I had to convince 'em to let it go. Great Seasons! How'd you even survive on your own?

"And after all their generosity, you go blow it off on some deranged rampage," he said. "You don't deserve any favors. The _villagers _do. But since we're outta their fur and they're all the jolly better for it, I think you owe me'n Inlo the truth for dragging your sorry rudder out of last night's scrap."

It was faster just t'get the truth out. But what if they thought my mind'd gone broke? They could drag me back to the village so I could 'rest up' and get my head back together. No better way to doom Keetch. But still, the truth was maybe the boot to the rump that would get us as far away from the village as fast as possible. _Or_ it could get me wound up in some confinement.

I swallowed back a scream of curses. They wanted somethin' interesting to listen to? Fine. Fine!

To hell with it all. Me, Keetch, Brink, all of them, and all of it.

"There's a ghost back there," I blurted. Both of 'em might as well have been made of stone.

"It stays with the damn hedgehog," I continued, just t'be clear. "That's why he's he's gone mad. Anybeast'd go mad if they had to live with that slimy, black thing." I'd never breathed a word about spirits to anyone before. Not to Kilmar, not to anyone. Hell, when we were brats Marko'd keep his mouth shut about Keetch unless he was with me. As much as I didn't hate my brother, even _I _thought he was a little looney.

Rall looked at the space above my head where Inlo's face'd be.

"Well?" I stressed. It was all out in the open now - some o' it, anyways.

"Ghosts like Martin the Warrior?" the otter asked, clampin' a sweaty paw over the red pommel of his sword.

"Seen 'im once," I admitted.

"To see the spirits!" the wolf marveled. With the back of my head pressed against his chest, I felt every syllable rumbling through his windpipe before he said 'em. "It is a gift!"

"Oh, shove a spear through your tail!" I scowled. "It's no walk o' daisies and perfumes and lace. It's a nightmare. Now lemme go or I get the _gift_ of seeing that ghost again." There was another pause.

"Miria, what did Martin-"

"NOW!" I hollered. The runt let go and I nearly fell on my face. I swiped my spear and pack off the ground and scrambled back on my footpaws.

"Miria!" asked the mighty warrior of ninnies. "What did Martin say to you?"

I trudged on. "He told me to use your sword," I said over my shoulder.

"For what?"

"For sticking it up your ass, is what!" I ran. Or at least, I tried to. I only got three steps in before that damn minnow barged in my path with a paw on the hilt.

"You're not leaving here without explainin'," he declared.

I rolled the spear shaft in my palm. "I'll gut you where you stand!"

"You don't even have the balance t'cross a bridge," he shot back, unsheathing his sword by a claw's length - just enough that the metal reflected the sunlight straight into my eyes. I blinked back and shook my head while I felt a dozen veins pop behind my eyeballs.

"Do you really want to face me right now?" he asked. I swiped my spear horizontally and he stepped back right as I cut a deep Z shape where his body oughta have been. My arms worked good 'nough but my legs and balance belonged to a drunken sailor. All it took was a kick to my shin to knock me on my knees so that I could spit outlast night's fourth-rate feast. Instantly, my mind cleared and I could think and see and feel with clarity. My face was all sore and busted up, but I was fine besides that mess.

My neck suddenly went cold and my skin twitched where the metal touched. I glanced up and saw Rall lookin' down his crinkled potato of a nose while he tickled my throat with his blade.

"Don't try to attack me," he said. "Ever."

"Friends!" Inlo yelped. "Peace!"

"I'm just surprised that it's the first time I tried." I set my footpaw down on the ground and braced my knee to push m'self back to a stand. Rall lifted his weapon and took a minced back to sheathe the glorified letter-opener. Just like that, the little prissy thought it was over. Well it was, but only 'cause I was tired of him.

"So what did Martin really say?" the guppy demanded.

I spun on my heel and started back down the path in a pace between a job and a fast walk.

The deranged duo kept up with their pestering. "What did he say?"

"What spirit do you run from?" the runt asked. "Why must we fear him?" _I don't fear him. Keetch does. Did. Does? Dammit! _There was nothing left. I had Marko once. Just Marko and I knew that if I just had him that I would survive. But he didn't just die. He flipping jumped to his death. And Keetch isn't just gonna disappear into the mist. He was gonna be held down and suffocated by shadows while the thing snacked on him, shearing chunks off'a him while the fox screamed and begged me to run faster.

Run faster.

If only those two morons...

"Then could you just explain-"

I wheeled upon them. "What else do you need to know?" I screamed. "I didn't ask ya to follow me. I don't want ya to follow me. I'm bolting from a bloody spirit that wants to eat souls. You don't like it? Then go find somebeast else to stalk!" I was panting by the time I was done; the guppy and runt just gawked at me, watching as I began to shake and that weird, disgustin' mix of sweat-tear-snot started greasing my face again.

There was a pause as big as both their brains put together. Then Inlo started flapping his jaws 'round. "I was only curious."

I didn't have anything to say to that. No more time to waste. I wheeled around and went down the road again, my footpaws and heartbeat racing with the thoughts of Keetch. And Marko. And Brink. And my parents. And Kilmar. And the island. And all the dead bastards in the world and where they were rotting in Hell.

If one of 'em stopped, I kept goin'. If I stopped, we all stopped. Only Rall and Inlo talked to each other when the speed was right or during my quick breaks. More things about Martin the Wart and all the beasts he'd nightmared into finding pearls and swatting crows and how he sent Keetch to the North to die - sent him up North to be crushed by a fallin' castle.

By the time the sun set we were already leagues away from the hop-trop village and the slobberers who called it home. I wanted to keep moving, I wanted to keep Keetch alive, but more than anything else, I wanted t'know if there was even a point to try anymore.

Only one way to find out.

"I'm going t'sleep," I announced. I found my corner twenty paces away from all their noise as I hunkered down to a sleep. I didn't feel like taking a doze, though. My heartbeat made sure of that. And if it wasn't for my pulse, the bumpkins were yammering to themselves as they tossed firewood together. Rall'd taken to the ghost thing real calm, but I guess if you live in a castle that really believes in a ghost mousie, a haunting wasn't much of a shock. And the runt? Seeing dead things was a gift? Then what the hell was a curse?

"You think she's really asleep?" Rall asked in a hushed voice. A beast could hear him a hundred paces away, but considerin' the size of his gob, I guess it was hushed. I kept my ears pricked and my back turned to 'em.

"May be."

A pause. "After all her puking and hysterics, I think she'd be tuckered out."

"She was eager for rest," Inlo agreed, huffing into the flames to 'breathe life into it'.

"You think her brain's turned to puddin'?" the guppy asked. The pot calling the kettle black.

"Miss Miria only sees spirits. There is no pudding in the brain."

"Wait a tick. _Only_ sees spirits? Is that normal to you wolves?"

"It is a rare gift."

"Somebeast goes off her rockers, says a ghost is out t'get her, and you just believe it? Just like that?"

"Why do you still follow her with your doubts?"

Rall snorted something like a tough-sounding swear. "Naw, mate. I don't doubt the spirit of Martin is out there. I just don' think he'd show hisself to Miria before me."

"Is it because Miss Miria is not from Redwall?" he asked.

"Well..." the guppy struggled. "Not really. More like she's awfully prickly. She's not noble or kind or wise or anythin'," he clarified. "Nothing like the great warriors are supposed t'be."

"I see," Inlo drawled. "It is said that only the wisest creatures can see the other side. Miss Miria is many things but not wise. Experienced, maybe. But not wise beyond her time."

"So either she's a hero in disguise - a _really_ good disguise - or she's some kook," Rall sighed. "Either way, she's had us fooled."

_Huh. Hero or fool? I'm neither, but why ask the question when they both mean the same damn thing?_ I screwed my eyes so tight that my entire face scrunched up with 'em.

"Hey dungheads, my ears still work!" I snapped. A guilty, relieving silence happened and I squirmed a little bit to curl into a tighter ball. No matter what happened, Keetch needed to stay alive. If I could just reach him I could maybe heal his wounds. Did ghosts even bleed? I remembered dragging Marko's broken carcass out of the bottom of the well and stupidly wonderin' if he'd greet our parents with a bloody face. Keetch was definitely watchin' me then. He's always watching. But what was banging through his mind when Marko dove headfirst? Did ghosts even cry? If they did, was the vermin an exception?

"Miria!"

The next thing I knew, the snow fox was right on top of me and throttling me by the shoulders. "Miria!" he whispered, his eyes wide and wild. Dark tendrils slipped and slimed at the edges of his face, oozing shadows as some high-pitched squawk of a laugh echoed all around.

"Get up!" Keetch ordered, latching onto me like a flea. "Get-"

A single blink broke us off.

He was gone.

Everything was dark.

_Gates!_ _How long was I asleep?_ I was lying on my side with my neck against a rotting log. "Keetch?" I mumbled as I sat up, practically breaking m' sore neck as I glanced around the bleak dark forest. The campfire blaze was practically all I could see, though. Two shadow-filled figures sat in front of it, one large and one smaller. I squinted and put a paw up to block out its glare.

"Rall? Inlo?" I half-whispered.

The runt was the first to answer. "Yes?" My relief shriveled when my instincts caught up to me. Something was still out there. Keetch was still alive- I could still feel his dead paws clutchin' me by the shoulders. But there was something behind him- something close enough to touch him and us.

"Put out the fire!" I hurled a pawful of dirt at 'em but it was like powder in the wind. "Put it out!"

"Good Seasons," Rall cursed.

"But why-"

"I said put it out!" I raved, turning my back to the light and glaring at the surrounding shadows. "Who the hell knows what's out there?" _Keetch knows. That monster knows._

"Wha'tre ya waiting for?!" I screeched. "Put it out!"

"If anybeast is out there, they're hearing your voice before they see the fire," Rall said in a scathing tone. "Now shaddup!"

"Come on! We're goin'!" I threw my rucksack on over my shoulder and grabbed my spear.

"We cannot walk the path," the runt squealed. "It is dark."

"Which is exactly why he'd come after us now!"

"Nothing's coming after us," Rall snapped. "It's all in your head."

"It's not!"

"At the rate we've been dashin' 'round by your orders, who's gonna catch up with us?" the otter said.

"What?" Good point.

He crinkled his nose. "Well that outburst at the feast must've knocked some of your brains out."

"I'm not crazy. We just need to keep mov-"

"No."

_But he'll die. _"But your Martin the Warrior tol' me-"

"There is _no_ way that Martin would talk to you before he'd get t'me," he huffed.

I couldn't walk it alone. Not in the dark. Not in the bottomless, gathering, living dark. Keetch was snatched in my dreams. It took him from me and I didn't walk far enough. Not nearly far enough. "When've I ever asked for anythin'?" I demanded. "When, Rall? _Please._"

He clamped his mouth shut and I knew I'd won. That good feeling didn't last long, though. The monster made sure of that.

Twigs snapped in the distance. The hair on my neck pricked higher and higher with every crunching, lazy, thumping footfall. Branches rustled and Inlo's lips peeled back into a cruel snarl. My claws dug deep into my palms and I didn't feel my blood crawling down from their wounds. I inched closer to the fire where the others were. Rall stood up, unsheathing his sword in one quiet motion.

"Who's there?" he called. Then he whispered to Inlo, "What do you smell?"

The wolf swiveled his ears and dipped his nose higher into the air and away from the firewood. Somewhere out there, the bushes and branches crackled as loud as our campfire. Beyond the shadows of trees, a long pillar of darkness drew itself along the dirt ground and pointed straight at us.

"He's here," I gulped.

"Inlo?" the guppy's voice climbed higher with urgency. "What do you smell?"

"One beast," the wolf said through clenched fangs. "A villager... and..."

"And what?" Rall stressed.

"And..." Inlo breathed deep and ended up more agitated. "Something new." His tail bristled and burrowed itself between his legs. "It is not a good scent."

Out from the foliage, the bent and ragged figure pulled itself away from the wilderness. It didn't make him any less frightening. It didn't make him any more a woodlander. His back was hunched, leaves and branches were tangled in his spikes, the darkness threw itself over his face though we could still see that his snout was twisted and broken. He- it... held its arms out in front of him, his claws gnarled and half-curled like he was clinging on to an invisible boulder.

For such a stumpy thing, it had such a long shadow. Long and thin, like it was stretching out just t'touch us.

Rall spoke up, his sword nowhere close to its scabbard. "Do you need help, friend?"

"I-I want..." Its voice was small and sickly but that didn't help our nerves. "I want..." He raised a chipped claw. The shadow started swaying. Rall's gaze roved between the shadow and the stranger, shadow, stranger. He knew it and I knew it. It was unnatural. Our minds could see something wrong but we didn't know why it was off. Movement flickered in the corner of my eye. My own shadow was not my own.

And then I knew.

While Rall and Inlo's shadows cast away from the campfire light, the stranger's shadow stretched _towards_ it without a single taper. My shadow? It stayed close to the fire, squirming as far away from the unnatural thing as it could. Keetch was alive, hiding behind me as he always did.

"What do you want?" Rall boomed.

"Speak!" Inlo snarled, ears flattening while his hackles rose even higher.

The creature didn't even flinch. Hell, I couldn't see his eyes but I was certain he didn't even blink. "I want," it rasped, "It's in her. I want _her_." The last word was clear as crystal. No mumbling, no whispering, no wheezing. It was the only time his voice was normal but that one tone set a chill washing through me.

"So hungry," it rattled. The hedgehog's bulky body lumbered forward, stumpy arms reaching out and groping the air. I saw his face. It didn't match. Tiny, sunken, beady eyes soaked in tears and fear. But the mouth- the mouth curled and twisted with rows of gnashing, rotting teeth.

His shadow led the way and I edged closer to the fire.

"Stay back," I yelled.

Rall and Inlo stepped towards the hedgehog. Eyes of terror, mouth of glee. I don't know if it was conscious or not, but they stayed clear of its shadow.

"Leave peacefully," the otter ordered.

"Or you die," Inlo finished, tail still tucked between his legs.

They might as well have not said anything. They might's well have not been there at all. It just kept its terrible eyes on me. It wouldn't listen. It would never listen. Not anymore. I gave my spear a little pop in the air, caught it in the throwing position, took aim, and swore under m'breath before hurling it straight towards the monster. But Verdill snarled and dashed forward, cutting the distance between us with impossible speed. The spear whistled past my ear and buried itself in the spot where the hedgehog was standing just a second ago.

The madbeast was racin' on all fours, his head lolling like his neck'd snapped. Slobber dribbled down his lips and his hungry teeth snared the empty air. "I want it!" he howled. "I want it I want it I want it!"

I clenched my jaws and raised my arms to block my chest and face. My legs moved on their own and I scrambled backwards. The possessed Verdill and his demon shadow were all I could see. Even when I kicked up the embers, I didn't even know I was in the fire until it was too late. The heat snapped at my leg like a hundred nails slapping into my flesh.

The madbeast was outta my thoughts as I screamed and stumbled to the side, landin' on my paws and knees. It was all shouts and snarls after that. Inlo stepped forward, smashing his knee into the creature's face. The normal thing would've been to squeal or clutch his head or even curse. It didn't even yelp. Like a spider, it bounced off its back and onto all fours, bounding toward Inlo with a wild grin too big for his face. Even the wolf fell back in fear, skittering backwards until the thing veered back to me.

I reached for the knife in my belt but I was too damn slow. It grabbed my arms with its vice grip and he collapsed on top of me, jaws snapping above my face as he went. "You can see!" he screeched, the blood on his ugly snout oozing onto my face. His jaw was broken and he shouldn't have been talking. "You saw!"

"Ge'rroff!" I screamed, flailing my limbs to beat him back. He was so heavy. It was like a giant rock sitting right on top of me and my arms of twigs. I was gonna snap and when I did, it was all over.

"Keetch!" I begged.

_WHAAP!_

A big, meaty sound. Verdill's limbs jerked like a puppet on strings and his eyes rolled back to their whites. His dead weight pitched forward on top o' me, changing direction when Rall yanked his sword outta the hedgehog's spine. The otter's mouth was wide in horror and both paws strangled the hilt.

"I-is he dead?" he asked stupidly. A ghost doesn't need t'be alive to attack. The next thing I knew, my knife was finally in my paw.

I plunged my blade deep into his skull.

A claw twitched.

His brains squelched as yanked the knife out and slammed it down into the back of his neck.

"Take-"

Stab.

"- this-"

Stab.

"- you-"

Stab.

"- crazy -"

"- muck-sucking -"

Stabstabstab.

"- bastard!"

I took the knife in both paws, held it over my head, and stuck him some more. And again and again and again and again and again and again-

"Miria! Stop!"

And again and again and again, cursing and yelling for the entire world to hear.

"Stop!" Strong, huge paws grabbed my wrists and I tried to wrench free before they pried the knife from me. My paws didn't know what t'do after that. They just grabbed my knees and refused to let go even when the blood pooled all around my legs and singed bandages. I was breathing so hard that I couldn't think. If it makes sense, I was breathing so fast that I couldn't breathe.

Something dark began to swell and ebb around the carcass's mouth. I sat and stared, heaving air through my lungs as I tried to understand what I was watchin'. The stuff eeked out slowly, a thin tendril snaking out of the dead thing's nostrils like a blind worm. I was frozen on the spot and the two idiots with me didn't even notice it. The shadow squirmed, seeking something. Seeking life. I inched away slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves.

The fire crackled behind me, throwing copper light onto the figure, making him grow and shrink with every flicker. Then I noticed another thing emerge, that time from my own shadow. The blobbish shape merely grew, twining until it found its way to the dying enemy, stretched itself out like a gaping mouth, and engulfed it, bulgin' as it swallowed the pathetic thing.

After the hell the spirit'd put us through, he didn't even make it sound worth it. He went down the hatch without even a peep. No scream, no noise, no burp, no nothing. My shadow just shrunk back, folding itself neatly back to its right shape like it was slowly relaxing. Keetch. The one time he fought back and the battle was already done. I just hoped his little snack would give him diarrhea.

Speakin' of that, Rall was looking like he was just about to soil his rudder. His mouth kept flapping open and shut but no sounds came out, his fishy eyes were glazed more'n usual and his double-hold on his hilt was so loose that a toddler could'a disarmed him.

"Mister Rallbrook?" Inlo whispered. He just gaped at the dead body like it fell outta the flipping sky.

My turn. "Rall!"

That snapped him out of it. He looked at me with a blank, confused look. "I didn't mean t'kill him," he sniveled. The 'warrior' glanced back at his victim and shook his head. "I didn't."

"And I didn't mean t'stab him so much," I snorted, still working on getting my legs t'stop quivering. "No use for a squeamish swordsbeast."

"What is he?" Inlo asked as he inspected my handiwork. It looked like somebeast slathered bloody mashed potatoes all over his separated neck and shoulders. "He was... he was strange."

"Cut the tripe. He was the ghost I was talkin' about. The one I tried t'warn about before you called me crazy."

Rall, brilliant beast that he was, said, "But he's... very real..."

"Ghosts don't need t'be alive to kill." _And you don't need spirits to drive ya mad either. _"Ghost or not, he meant t'kill us. He had what was coming." I kicked the corpse in the ribs just in case._  
_

"Stop it!" the fish-face snapped. "Don't you have any respect?"

"Respect? For a beast that tried to murder us? Do you hear yourself talk?"

The wolf stepped away from it, nose wrinkling with distaste. "Its strange scent... It's gone now. What must we do with the body?"

"He needs a proper burial," Rall decided. The look on my face spurred him to talk even more. "But it's not ours to give."

"No," I snorted. "You can't mean-"

"His sister cared about him," he pushed. "If not for him, then for her. She's a goodbeast and she needs this."

"So we just knock on her door and tell her _what_?"

"She will swear for our deaths," Inlo agreed. "We killed her flesh and blood."

"_I_ killed him," he said, raising his blood-slicked sword like we needed proof. "I did the hard part. If she'll blame anybeast, it's me."

"And lose an entire day of travel? Just dandy! No wait- _two!_ One to get back, another to trace our way back to this spot."

"Glad to see you can count," he retorted, shaking his head at the corpse. "And you two can go off on your own, but I'll carry him back and do everything myself if I have to. I c'n always catch up." We both knew he was bankin' on Inlo changin' his puny mind_. _And really, with the way the catfish's whiskers drooped almost as low as his tone, there was no way the runt was gonna turn him down. Cheap acting.

We argued for a long time, dressin' our wounds and grimacing at the gouging claw marks while we were at it. In the end, we knew we couldn't split up - not after that big spook. But Rall didn't budge and Inlo wouldn't bother takin' a side. Cripes, there was no reasonin' behind 'em. After all Rall's whining, I finally did what I had t'do to get him to shut up (besides stick my spear through his neck). We'd have t'drag the hog's fresh carcass back to that hell-pit of a hamlet, tell the slack-jaws what happened for all the village's wonderful little conveniences. Gates!

I couldn't tell if it was t'make the bumpkins feel better or to help Rall sleep at night.

It was his first kill, though. Probably the first death he saw. Why beasts felt guilt for this kind of scum, I didn't have a clue. But then again, I wouldn't know. I'd killed too many beasts to remember that feeling.

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**C/N: Finally! Now Jade can stop bothering me with this chapter and just mind her own business- or go bother some other poor schmuck. Either way, I don't care. That chapter was loooooong. Almost 7,000 words even without the author notes and character notes. Look, I'm tired and I don't want to deal with you clingy readers anymore. Just... type your complaints and leave 'em there for Jade to look over. If you don't do that, it's no skin off my nose. Now get lost.  
**

**...**

**What're ya still doing here? What the hell do you want?**

**...**

**You want to know when the next chapter's out, eh? It comes out when it comes out. Tough luck, get out.**

**...**

**Fine, FINE! Thursday. Jade's gonna try updating Mondays and Thursdays to catch up.**

**...**

**What?! Do you want my blood, too? Just. Get. Outta here!**


	30. Heavy Rain

**A/N: So it isn't Thursday as promised, but Friday. I'm sorry that I sacrificed my Friday night to update for you, then. (sarcasm) Anyways, thanks to those who reviewed last: Professor-Evans, WildIvy15, Saraa Luna, and Free Thought. Gift baskets for all of you! Everyone else gets nothing! :)**

**Now for this chapter, I listened to the Heavy Rain OST (which is an excellent, excellent game that ties into the mood and theme of this chapter).**

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**Heavy Rain**  
_Lord Keetch Garrion Swalestrom_

_What a mother sings to the cradle goes all the way down to the coffin._ - Henry Ward Beecher

* * *

The rain was pouring.

That is always the first thing I remember about that day. I stood there, soaked to the fur as the sky put some half-effort into making my day miserable. But it was not the weather that had put me in a dour mood; rather, the gloomy rain complemented the grisly scene at my footpaws.

The mousemaid lay curled in the mud, barely clothed and her body bloated from the river water. Normally, I would have dismissed her death as a drunken fall into the torrents. But upon a second glance, the markings around her wrists and ankles told a different sort of story. How ironic that she would be of more use in death than in life.

"M'lord." In otterguard stepped up beside me and held a cloak above my head to buffer the rain.

"I can handle a little bit of water," I said, though I had to raise my voice above the dampening air. "Just go back to searching for evidence." The otter did a small salute and headed back to the wall of prattling peasants. As loud as those creatures were, they said nothing worthwhile. Typical, really. I shook their voices away and focused on my task.

I know that it is unsuitable for a lord to handle a corpse... especially that of a pleasure maiden, but whatever information she had could save many lives. Kneeling, I inspected her paws more closely and saw that her skin was raw and bloody and gashed. The horizontal markings encircling her wrist and ankles suggested being bound, though the cuts might have been caused by rubbing against a sharp object.

Her dress was torn and tattered in suggestive ways and I sent a silent prayer for her sake. If it was as Scala said, there were probably more of them being tortured in that fashion. But my leniency with the weaselwife had amounted to nothing, though I should have expected as much from her kind. Had she tried, there were rumors that she could verify - useful things she could do. Were there more bodies floating in River Rems? Were the currents about to dredge them up on land? Just how many water-logged corpses were there? Even more importantly, how many living beasts were still looking at that fate?

I did not know where they were being hidden, or if they were alive at all, but I was going to bring their plight to attention and wreak justice upon the vile creatures responsible. There was a rise in murmuring and I looked up from the scene to witness a lavish carriage pull up around the perimeter of onlookers. If anything, the new arrival was sure to draw even more attention from the depths of Darry's Hill. It was not every day that two lords would bother over a body in a humble, crime-stricken area, after all.

I left the corpse under the watch of an otterguard and approached the carriage. The carriagebeasts came to a halt and, as usual, my father opened the door himself and stepped down into the mud.

"Skipper Swalestrom." "Lord Galen." "Sir!" the otterguards saluted in sloppy unison. One otter even stumbled up to him, offering my lord father a cloak to fend off the rain; a considerate gesture, though it was to go to waste. Rather than bask in the attention, my father dismissed them to their duties with an easy wave of his arm just as his eyes locked onto me.

"Father," I greeted with a nod. "I am glad you came."

"Not every day you send for a favor," he said in his typical jovial tone.

"I am sorry to be of disturbance to you."

"None at all," replied my lord father. "Seems like you have your paws full. What can I do t'help, son?"

I led him to the body and squatted beside it without any hesitation. I remained standing as I explained the short entirety of the situation. "Some of my otterguards happened across this body and they recognized the markings of captivity. I have a suspicion that this incident is directly linked to the rumors of disappearances within Darry's Hill. I require assistance in finding the beast who did this and deliver him to the gallows. Your past profession required you to hunt down some of the malcontents of Triel and Southsward, and I need some advice on the matter."

"Bounty hunting, eh? Strange t'see you're carrying on the ol' family business." I gave my eyes a roll as he inspected her wrists and ankles, turning them over as though he was inspecting the seal of a message rather than a waterlogged carcass.

"Ain't it bad luck for a new father t'be around the dead?" he asked in a teasing tone.

I scoffed. "You must be joking. Please do not tell me that you believe in such superstition._"_

"Just tellin' ya, your wife won't like it." My father chuckled despite the mousemaid's corpse.

"If there is one thing I am thankful for, it is that Ayda is a creature of sound logic and tips her nose at the notion of luck. Now," I said, "let us turn ourselves back on topic. We have concluded that she was bound but managed to rub the rope against a sharp object," I explained as my father handled the body.

"Must've been some pretty shoddy rope to get cut by a hunk of wood."

"What?"

He held up a thumb and foreclaw, pinched together, and I leaned closer to inspect his find.

"A piece of splinter," he spoke over the rain. "Nasty-looking thing. More of 'em are embedded in her wrists." It was true. Upon closer inspection, her wounds were riddled with them, though they were difficult to detect underneath her fur.

"Do we know what kind of wood?"

"We can figure that out, maybe" he said, checking into her pockets. "But it's a long shot. Doubt we'd find anything particularly useful."

"Is this_ all_ the information we can gather?"

The Skipper of the Otterguard heaved a mighty sigh as he continued looking. "Well, by the state of her body and by the rain 'round these parts, I say we'd be lucky if we find any more clues about her unfortunate fate. Poor th- aha! Wait a second."

The rain blurred my vision as I studied his handiwork, though I wish I had not been so keen to observe. I could only watch with shock as my father lifted the pleasure maid's skirt, hiking it up around the knees while his paws felt around the in-folds of the fabric.

"W-_what_ are you doing?!" I sputtered. "Father, have you lost your-"

He held up a silencing paw. "First thing you gotta know," he stressed, "is that commoners this low do things quite differently." He curled the edge of her dress and produced a small buttoned pocket between the folds. "They're always afraid of thieves takin' something precious, so sometimes they hide things in secret pockets or in their boots or somethin'."

I slapped a paw over my heart. "Oh thank the Seasons."

"What? You thought your old pop was a pervert? Ha!" He shrugged off my insinuations and unhooked the button. I licked my lips despite the moisture in the air, and he held up a pawful of coins and a small wooden acorn pendant that hung from a simple loop of string. I took the trinket from him and turned it over in my paws. The only other thing I could make out of it was a crude inscription of the letter N in the middle. The rough, useless bauble certainly did not appear to be of any value.

"My guess is that she has kids," my father said, grunting as he stood up from his position, a paw supporting his lower back as he did so. "These old bones ain't what they used t'be, that's for sure."

"Children? What makes you say that?" I stood up myself and nearly fell over. It is amazing what the frigid rain does to the body.

"Look at the handiwork, Keetch. Ain't an heirloom. Nah, too new for that. And nobeast would pay scrap Copper for that kind o' shabby craftmanship... or treasure it, either. Best bet is that some kid made it for 'er."

I let the trinket roll in my palm. "It is not much to work with."

"Maybe, maybe not." Lord Galen frowned as I listened eagerly. "But listen, Keetch," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You'll probably think the idea's crazier than I do, but if there's anybeast who could help you, it's your godfather."

"And what does the general know of such things?" I snorted. A rather undignified reaction, I know, but the very thought of requesting aid from the general of Sword was beyond repugnant.

"Way back in the day, I was the one who found clues and he was the one t'find the creatures fittin' the clues. Simple as that," my father said. I followed him back to his carriage where his servants and otterguard awaited him. They seemed relieved to know that they would be out of the rain soon, though the same could not be said for myself and my own subjects.

"Do you leave me with no other option?" I implored. My lord father turned around and his expression melted into one of admiration and sympathy.

"You've done a good job, son. But you've gotta realize when there's nothing else y'can do... Not at the moment, anyways. All the evidence and support ain't gonna plop onto your lap in one day." He placed a firm paw on my shoulder. "You taken up a lot of responsibility for one so young. Now go home, get back to your family, and get some rest. I'll help you with this tomorrer."

"I look forward to it, Father," I said with a bow. He gave me a half-smile and shut the door just before the servants took their leave, pulling the carriage behind them as they did so. I looked around at my own servants and saw that they were dripping wet and miserable in the rain. Even the bystanders had grown tired of the weather, dissipating just as soon as my father left. Considering the fact that it was almost dark, I decided that there was little more than we could do.

In several minutes, I had the carriage drawn and the body collected by a cart. The vole handled the body with as much dignity as a sack of flour and heaved straw on top of the corpse before wheeling it off. Degrading as the treatment was, I was at least going to ensure a proper burial. The carriage pulled up in front of me and I was about to step inside when I heard the sound of scuffling footpaws and splashing mud.

"Please, sir!"

Between two bodyguards struggled a young mouse only half my height. With all the pick-pocketing that happened in Darry's Hill, it was not an uncommon sight. However, the boy was trying to fight his way towards me instead of attempting escape.

"Please sir!" he repeated. I raised a paw to abstain my guards and they did as they were told.

"What is it you want?" I asked evenly. He looked to be around the age of five, maybe six. It was at that moment that I guessed the reason for his behavior.

"Where's m'Ma?" he demanded. I stood shocked and speechless at the sight of the brazen child.

He continued on in complete ignorance. "I heard y'found a mousemaid. I wanna see 'er." And then, like an afterthought, he added a sheepish "Please" to his request (in truth, it was more of a pronouncement).

I looked to my Otterguards for aid in the matter. Perhaps they would distract him from the morbid possibility? It would have done me good if they admonished him for his complete disregard of propriety; at the very least it would have bought me several moments to think of some logical solution. As usual, my father was absent for an uncomfortable moment.

"W-what goin' on?" the boy asked, glancing at all the the beasts that did not dare face him.

Finally I said, "It is true that we have found the body of a mousemaid by the river. However, we have not been able to identify her."

The child clutched his paws to his chest as though to contain his anxiety. "Maybe if I see her..." His gaze followed a heavy, straw-covered cart that lumbered further away from him. Some basic instinct in him predicted the worst. He tilted head so that his chin pointed at the retreating figure. "Is it there? That mousemaid y'found?"

"Is your mother missing?" Then I clarified, "Missing for more than a few days?"

"Y-yah."

"Has she ever left you for long?"

"No." His voice rang true and terribly honest. "She's been gone and somethin' pro'ly happened. They said you might've found her." Curse the peasants and their loose tongues. Had they unleashed the mouse just mere moments ago, my father would have been able to aid me. There was no possible way that their timing could have been worse.

"Yes." Despite the dampness in the air I found my voice parched. "Yes, I have." There was one way to spare the boy from seeing the gruesome sight. For the first time in my life, I prayed that somebeast would not pass a test I set before him. I plucked the little acorn bauble from my pocket and held it up so that the 'N' inscription was hidden from his view. "Is this familiar to you?"

His eyes widened and my heart sank. "I-it looks like it," he said. With every word he declared his mother's death. "But does it have an 'N' for Nessa?"

My lips curled involuntarily and I nodded. His limbs seized up and his expression lingered before the conclusion ripped him apart.

"NO!" He rushed toward the distant cart.

"Restrain him," I snapped. A guard completed the order and held the child around his middle as he struggled and screamed and wept. Many things poured out of his mouth. Some were too foul to repeat and others were pleads or words of love (and apologies).

"Calm down this instant," I ordered.

"No! You did this to her!" he howled. "You did this, you sick bastard." In an instant, the otterguard shoved the mouseling onto his knees and into a prostrate position. The officer handled him with far more care than he would any common criminal though the boy screeched in agony.

"Calm yourself," I repeated. "I promise you that I did nothing to your mother. I simply arrived when I heard about a body by the docks. Do you understand?" The child whimpered before dropping his head in utter defeat. I watched as he crumpled to the mud-washed ground while he wailed to himself. I did not know what to do at that time. Console him? How? With what? Absolutely nothing.

It was Canning who helped the boy up to his footpaws... or at least, he tried to do so.

"Do you have any family left?" I asked.

Whatever he said was unintelligible. The guards edged back from the heart-breaking scene and it was a rare moment in which I truly felt incompetent. It was all I could do to ask more redundant questions.

"Where are you staying?" By the state of his dirty face and threadbare clothes, I assumed nowhere.

"Come on," Canning reassured, finally lifting the dead weight to his paws. Where my otterguards faltered, Canning was equipped with a sense of loyalty to his kind. His example of compassion, however, was more exhausting that inspirational. My heart sank deep in my chest and no solutions came to mind - only a slight remedy.

I nodded to the mouseguard. "Officer Canning, bring the boy into the carriage and out of the rain."

"Yessir!" He encircled the urchin with his arms, one cradling him by the shoulderblades and the other hooked behind his knees. The youngster abandoned his flailing and resigned to loud sobs. As you can imagine, he was much easier to handle and tolerate at that state. I took my seat as Canning unloaded his cargo and placed him in the seat opposite me, whispering to the lad to behave and that his situation would improve (all while making promises that I would be miracle worker to make such changes).

"I want m'Ma!"

The volume made me wince. "Officer Canning, it would do me great pleasure if you could join us back to my estate."

The mouseguard's ears perked in mild surprise. "Are you sure, sir? I mean -"

"Just to contain him," I said with a nod in the child's direction.

"Very kind of you, sir," Canning mumbled, shifting himself in the tiny, boxed enclosure so that he could close the door. The carriagebeasts, as usual, waited a few moments for us to be comfortably seated before they continued. Of course, the word 'comfortably' is used quite loosely. There was really no way for any beast with heart to take the situation with ease.

For the remainder of the carriage ride I stopped thinking about the mousemaid and envisioned the perpetrators' bodies swaying from the gallows.

* * *

In about an hour I was in some dry clothes and reviewing reports in my study. Canning was dismissed and I had informed Ayda of our guest and had given servants duties to tend to him. It seemed to me that my wife had brought it upon herself to be particularly difficult when it came to the matter of children. Questions arose and she went off to arrange for his 'extended stay'. I would have done something to discourage her but she had made her mind.

Drained as I was, I normally would have taken to bed but the young mouse needed to be questioned. From what passing servants had told me, the guest's name was Lowell and that he had last seen his mother only three days ago. There was more to it than that but I doubted that a child could discern fruitless facts from subtle clues.

I was nearly finished reading my report when a guard delivered the mouse to my study. His eyes were swollen from tears and his voice was hoarse from weeping.

"Come," I beckoned. "Sit."

The boy tottered over, nearly tripping on himself. I had ordered a clean set of clothes for him though I had neglected to mention that they should be sized appropriately. He looked like a beast wearing curtains instead of a servant's uniform. But he did not take a seat by the fireplace as he was told. Rather, he stood before me, frozen to the spot.

"M... m'lord?" He shook like a leaf in a storm. "I 'pologize for the words from earlier, sir! I didn't mean it... sir." It pleased me to see that he had learned some proper manners since we last spoke. There was no doubt that Canning had some involvement in the improvement.

"I will forget that incident just this once," I replied. "One has little control over himself when grieving." I motioned for him to take the seat across from me and he practically had to clamber up to the cushions.

A squirrel serving maid appeared with impeccable timing and set a tray of tea and a spread of warm dishes on the table between us. Given the meager offerings and the fact that it was so late into the evening, they were only leftovers that the cook had scrounged up at the late notice.

"You may help yourself," I invited him as the squirrelmaid poured us some calming mint tea. Seasons knew I needed something to steady my nerves. I leaned back and took a small sip. The boy, however, only stared out the window and wrung his wrists. I followed his gaze and saw only darkness with streaks of silver raindrops.

"You are not hungry?" I asked.

"No," he mumbled as he wound his tail around his ankle. Beside him stood the squirrelmaid and I noticed her wince at the bare reply. _Ah,_ I thought. _It seems that his lessons in __etiquette did not carry past an apology._

Ignoring his disregard for formality, I placed my teacup back to the saucer and balanced the porcelain on my palm. "In that case, would you be so kind to introduce yourself?" Of course, I was already informed of his name but it was only common courtesy that he would introduce himself.

"Lowell."

"I see. And how old are you, Lowell?"

"'Eight." He was older than he looked but he still seemed far too young. I could have called upon my father to speak to the boy. He had always had more of a patience for children. For a brief moment I wished to abandon my task and send a message to him. It was not too late to ask Lowell about something else - anything else.

I took another long sip of tea.

Perhaps I should ask if he attended the lessons at the schoolhouse that I had so generously built? That was a valid and stalling question. However, duty overrode my hesitancy. A lord had to have the discipline and courage to take on new challenges, after all.

With that decision made, I finally said, "And tell me about your mother."

"My mother?" he echoed. He clenched his paws and looked down onto his lap.

"I want to find who is responsible and bring him to justice. Now, what you have to say might prove of great importance."

"'Sponsible? You think..." He blinked owlishly and licked his cracked lips. "They said it'd be murder." His eyes welled up again and the serving maid placed a handkerchief in his paws.

"They? You mean to say 'the crowd?'"

He nodded as he smeared his tears with the cloth. Of course they would deduce such a thing. Lords did not bother with suicides or inconsequential incidents.

"What happened?" he asked in a hushed tone, as though I was the executioner.

I paused, wincing at the fact that I would have to divulge even more sensitive information to the ears of a child. Well-intentioned as I was, the boy knew and there was no point in shielding him from the truth. Even still, was I about to tell a child about how his mother was tortured?

"I believe your mother may have stumbled upon criminal activity." It was vague enough, though I felt the twinge of a half-lie on my tongue. I washed the feeling away with another sip of tea.

"Did it hurt?"

"Yes," I said slowly, carefully- as though the slightest sound could shatter him like glass.

"How much?"

"I am not sure."

"You're _s'posed_ to know these things," he accused, digging his claws onto the armrest. The attending squirrelmaid maintained silence up until that point.

"You do not speak to his lordship like that," she scolded. Her tone was harsh but the paw laid on his shoulder was anything but. I nodded at her and she shrank back to her post a few steps beside Lowell. I continued the conversation then.

"No, I do not have the absurd ability to perceive the pain of others," I replied stiffly. "Why would you ever come up with that outlandish assumption?"

"'Cause you're a _lord_," he huffed in a scathing tone. Tears sprung at his eyes and he looked down at his knees. The squirrelmaid made a move to remind him of his station but a glance from me stayed her tongue. There were certain limits to my generosity and young Lowell had clearly crossed the line _twice._ I was about to put him in his place when he opened his mouth once more.

"How much d'ye _think_ it hurt?" he breathed, once again sobbing openly to himself. I took another sip and found my tea cold. Why did children always fixate on such topics?

"I think she may have been unconscious during her death," was my answer. "She might not have been awake to feel pain, rest her soul."

"The pendent... Can I have it back?" He held his paws out like an expecting beggar. There was no harm in that request, really. With pursed lips, I reached an arm to the pile of reports, pinched the thing between two claws, and held it out in arm's length. The serving beast made to step in to collect the trinket but Lowell hopped down from his perch and completed the transfer himself.

He stood there a moment, cradling the pendant in the palm of his paw.

"Now can you tell me about your mother?" I prodded gently. "Anything at all, young one."

"But she was..." He continued to stand and stare at his mother's keepsake as he rubbed his tears away. "She never hurt anyone, y'know?"

"Horrible things happen... oftentimes to creatures who deserve it least. What else can you tell me about her? Her whereabouts, perhaps? Did she know anybeast dangerous?"

"She always sent me to play when she went t'... the market," he said with evasive eyes. "I don't know who she talks to. She never lets me anywhere near'em."

_And by 'the market,' you mean 'to service the males?'_ I wanted to inquire that much but I did not want to slander a mother in front of her son. Still, it had to be done. "There is no shame in whatever it is that your mother did," I lied (once again). "Whatever she did, she did it to earn money for the both of you. It is not anything _bad._"

"Yessir," he nodded, ears flopping in the air as he squeezed fresh tears. Even when spoken with a gentle tone, his reaction was still dripping with half-understood humiliation.

"And did your mother spend a lot of time with males?"

"Yes."

"And you knew none of those beasts? Would you recognize any of them?"

His hollow eyes flared right then. "No, sir. But if any one of 'em hurt her, I'll-"

"Steady on." I held a paw in the air and motioned him silent. "There is nothing that we know about her killer. Besides, terrible things happen to children who act upon such violent impulses. Leave it to my Otterguard and you will see this resolved. I promise you that."

His hazel eyes dulled back down to its defeated look.

"Good lad. Now, tell me about your father." What kind of beast let his wife fall into such an offensive occupation? It would not surprise me if young Lowell was without a male figure in his life. Capricious scum as he was, it was likely for the best that he held no influence on the boy.

"Dunno 'im," the mouse admitted. Strange, that. It might have actually been the easiest tone he had all day. "Ma said he didn't care 'bout us. We didn't need no grumpy, broke geezer." He wiped his over-sized sleeves over his eyes and nose.

I did not wish for him to wallow on this upsetting subject and decided to move on to another question. "And did your mother have any friends?"

"No."

I noticed my empty tea cup and bobbed it in the air as a gesture to the serving maid to fill it. "And your mother's relatives?"

"Dunno 'em. Don't need low-lifes taking care o' me neither! Bunch'a snot-snuffin', black-toothed tailbiters."

Another grateful swallow of mint tea washed down the back of my throat. "Young Lowell, there is no need for such acidic words towards your own family."

"M'Ma'd be alive if it wasn't for their stupid, fat, snooty heads," he protested.

That time I did not need the squirrelmaid to speak for me. "True as that may be, I do not need such language under my roof," I shot back.

"They threw her out. They were so _nasty_ to her," he choked, throwing himself on a separate topic altogether. "They were awful. It should'a been _them_ instead of Ma. She even told me not t'hurt the other brats even when they called her names." His eyes softened somewhat, though he hid the expression when he turned to face the fire. "Whenever I was sick, she'd sleep beside me and make me my favorite soup even though she'd get nothin' for herself. She could'a given me up. Her Ma and Da tol' her t' drink a potion or gimme t' Sword, but she _loved_ me. I couldn't..."

"Now, we do not have to-"

"I should'a told her good-bye," he sobbed. He buried his face into his palms, cupping the pendant to his cheek; he let his claws curl as though he itched to scrape his face. "I should'a told her I loved 'er." He shook his head with disbelief, the sinking movements reminding me of a weary pendulum. "Bu' you know what I said? You know wha' I said? I told her... I told her that th' reason I couldn't get a good birthday present was 'cause... 'cause... c- c-"

"Stop." The pleading in my voice surprised me. The squirrelmaid was a picture of shock and uncertainty.

"I told her nobeast wanted t'marry a tart_ like her_," he croaked. His shoulders trembled as his body convulsed, threatening to explode into heart-wrenching sobs. "I made 'er cry. I made 'er walk out that door and I... she was gone. That was the last thing I 'ver said." He stopped cradling his face and looked up at me with a grim realization.

"She died thinkin' that nobeast loved 'er. She died thinkin' I _hated_ 'er."

"I am sure tha-"

"I said that."

"We must not dwell in the-"

"It should'a been me." He shook his head. His face contorted, twisting itself into an anguished grimace. "Not her."

A giant pin had me fixed down to my seat. It was all I could do to shout his name twice. A lot of good that did.

The child clamped both paws on both sides of his head. "Why?" he screeched. "Why?!" I flinched as he slammed his fists against his head as if beating out some demon. "Why?" And again. "Why?!" I flinched for a third time. "WhywhywhywhywhyWhyWHY_WHY_-"

"Stop!" The squirrelmaid threw herself on him and grabbed his wrists, pulling them away from the rest of his body. "Stop," she repeated, attempting to hush him. He screwed his eyes shut and reeled his head against the back of his cushioned chair. I heard someone come bounding through the halls before the door shuddered ajar.

"My lord," an otterguard exclaimed. "Are you alright?" He looked around and stared at the comforting squirrelmaid.

"Why?" Lowell wailed.

"Shshshshshsh," the maid soothed back, hugging him close while pulling him into a small rocking motion.

"No," he whimpered between breaths. "No no no no no. Ma." Lowell offered no resistance after that. He just crumpled against the servant in a wretched heap. The otterguard approached us slowly as though he would startle the mouse in another bout of hysterics.

"My lord," he asked me. "S'everything alright?"

"I am fine." I could not look anybeast in the eye. "All is well. Now please, find him a bed and watch over him for a while. Watch him closely. I must- I must go."

I excused myself out of the room. I needed to be away and far from that horrid scene- that horrid scene and that despair that breathed in that room.

The first thing I needed to do was rest. Rest and hope to Great Seasons that I at least have a dreamless sleep after all of that morbid talk. But I could not get Lowell and his mother out of my mind. She was not much older than I, and he was a mere child.

I opened the door to my chambers and shut the door behind me. My lady wife stirred in her sleep but thankfully did not wake. I made to change into my nightclothes but my paws still could not stop shaking and my throat felt clogged and parched. It was the strongest temptation for spirits that I had ever had. Not fine wine, but the bitter, coarse drinks that my father was so fond of. I shut the dresser with a clatter.

Lowell crossed my mind again, as much as I tried to distract myself. Where was he to go now? He had made it painfully clear that he had no kin or friends to care for him, no home or wealth to speak of either. All he had was his mother and she was gone. The only comforts he had (due to Ayda's meddling) were a roof over his head and the promise of three square meals, though whatever came next could not be guaranteed. He could join Sword but as Scala had pointed out, it was like signing a deal with the devil.

I turned to collapse into my bed, though the sight of my daughter's crib stayed me. Despite all of my bumbling within the room, she had not made a single sound in her sleep. I crept up to the crib and looked down on her slumbering form. She was on her back as infants should be, both paws on either side of her head while her face frowned in a dreamlike concentration.

She was so still.

I could not tell if I could see her breathe. It was either the the shadow of the curtains or the almost imperceptible rise and fall of her chest- either or.

My father's voice echoed in my head: bad luck for a newborn's father to be around death. I smeared my palm over my mouth as I swallowed my dread and forced myself back into control.

"Arlie," I whispered her pet name. No response.

I brushed the side of her cheek and I slumped forward in relief when I heard her tiny mewl of complaint. A small fist rubbed against the spot where I had grazed her and she began to fuss even louder. I heard the rustle of bedsheets before I heard a high-pitched yelp from behind. I jumped in place and spun around.

"Oh dear Gates, Keetch," my wife admonished. "You scared me." The infant stirred and writhed as she began her full-on squall. Ayda threw off her blankets and stomped towards the cradle to retrieve the newborn from her confines.

"Scared you? Not half as much as you did me," I sighed.

"I quite doubt it," she huffed, quieting the babe with some gentle rocking motions as she pat her back.

A knock sounded at the door and we both winced. "Lord Keetch, Lady Ayda, is everything alright?" came the wetnurse's worried voice.

"Yes, yes," Ayda replied in a muted voice. "A bad dream is all. Please go back to bed."

"Yes m'lady." We heard the maid walk back to her chambers down the hall.

The infant still continued to wail. It was strange. They were more than five seasons apart, and yet Arlyn's cries sounded almost identical to Lowell's. I could not stand it. I swiped a paw over my forehead and found sweat beading upon my brow.

"Perhaps I should go to the guest chambers... retire for the night there." With that, I left, putting a door as a barrier between myself and that awful sound. I found the nearest of the guest chambers and practically collapsed onto the bed. I cannot tell you how long I was asleep but I know it was not for long.

"Keetch?" Ayda's voice woke me from my slumber. She hesitated at the doorway but she traipsed inside and settled herself beside me. "Keetch," she asked gently, "is something the matter? Is it about the mouse?"

I swallowed and buried my face in the pillow. "Never you mind about me."

"Stop being such a child," she coaxed. "We can talk about it."

"Perhaps in the morning," I muttered.

She heaved a deep and weary sigh. "Alright then."

The door closed between us and that was that.

* * *

**C/N: Miss TeaLeaf, forgetful as always, forgot to acknowledge the help of Miss Free Thought, who aided her in the editing process of this very rushed chapter. Thank you, Miss Free Thought, for not allowing my author to 'botch' (as you say) my character too badly. This chapter was easier to write than the previous chapter (as I am far more likeable and well-spoken than my cousin) but Miss TeaLeaf somehow managed to flounder at it. **

**For her sake, please send a review with some comments and advice on how she can improve her work for the remainder of the story. Your criticism will be greatly appreciated so long as it is constructive and honest. Also, Miss TeaLeaf understands that there is a certain fan appeal to orphans and has decided that to dangle poor Lowell in front of you just to get more reviews. Remember, less reviews means more suffering for Lowell. Please, for his sake, send your thoughts of this chapter to satisfy Miss TeaLeaf's sadism and give Lowell 'a break.' **

**And please, Miss Free Thought *looks at the I-Heart-You-Keetch banners and her box of #1 foam fingers* I am a married lord and I find your advances inappropriate.  
Lady Ayda: You can have him.**


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